


Return to Room 27

by Udunie



Series: Exit 27 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Angst, BDSM, BOTH STEREK AND STETER ARE JUST BRIEF SIDEPAIRINGS, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bestiality, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, CBT, Caning, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Cages, Collars, Crying, Dehumanization, Diapers, Double Penetration, Flogging, Gags, Humiliation, Impact Play, Incest, Knotting, M/M, Masochism, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pain, Painplay, Panic Attacks, Partner Swapping, Sadism, Sensory Deprivation, Situational Humiliation, Somnophilia, THIS IS NOT A STETER FIC, This is not a Sterek fic, Vibrators, Watersports, Xenophilia, asshook, stinging nettles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3476171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the sequel of Room 27.</p><p>In this installment Stiles returns to Alan's Motel - this time knowing what he is getting involved in.<br/>But is there such a thing as 'knowing what you're getting into' where Alan is involved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday - Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> As you can see from the summary, this is a sequel, so I would strongly advise you to read Room 27 first - if you haven't already.  
> Don't let yourself be scared by the Rape/Non-Con warning, there is no actual rape in the story, and it only starts out as dub-con.
> 
> As with Room 27, this fic should absolutely not be taken as representation of safe/sane/consensual BDSM. It has very little to do with it, and I would like to warn you to NOT try things you read in this fic - at least not the way they are depicted here.
> 
> ETA: From now on, I will include the list of kinks in the end notes of the chapers.
> 
> For those of you lovely people who already read Room 27: Thank you so much for all your encouragement and kind words, I hope I can live up to your expectations!  
> Also, as you can see I've switched to more manageable chapter lengths, so hopefully I should be able to work out a steady posting schedule.

Stiles took exit 27 on the interstate with Nirvana blasting from the raspy speakers of the Jeep. It was his mom’s favorite and he'd noticed a long time ago that he tended to put it in whenever he needed something to take his mind off his problems, he wasn’t really listening to the music though. To be honest, he barely remembered the trip from Beacon Hills - too little sleep too much stress - he wasn’t even sure he took his meds in the last few days.

Alan’s Motel came into view as soon as he passed the truck stop. He was driving slower now, easing up on the accelerator with every feet he got closer.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

It probably had been a bad idea when he came here for the first time - back when he had no clue what was waiting for him -, but now it seemed even worse. He wasn’t sure he would be… That he could take whatever the manager had for him, if he even had anything. His skin felt paper thin, stretched too tight over his body.

He remembered what Alan said about coming back, if he wanted to be perfectly honest the only thing keeping him sane in the last hours that he’d spent home was doing what he’d been told: getting shaved and cleaning himself. Actually, he might have went a bit overboard with the shaving; it was entirely possible that the man only meant his chest and groin - like he'd shaved Stiles on that first night - but when he started he just couldn’t stop and ended up shaving his entire body below the neck. Or well, everywhere he could reach.

Yeah. Yeah, probably too much.

His fingers kept fidgeting on the wheel. Despite what Alan had said when he left the motel two months ago, maybe he wasn’t welcomed back. He didn’t think that there were a lot of regular guests in room 27, or at least there wasn’t a calendar full of appointments on the wall of the office… Maybe it was a one-time gig. Maybe you could only get the room once. The manager must have seen how uncomfortable he had been about leaving and just wanted to placate him.

Shit.

He should just turn around and save himself the embarrassment of getting kicked out.

The slight metallic aftertaste in his mouth grew stronger as he bit on his lip too hard, the small burst of pain made him speed the car up. So what? So he would get kicked out and go back to campus. Everybody would be glad to see him a week early. Everything would get back to normal. No big deal.

He just stopped the Jeep in front of the little building without parking properly or turning the engine off, he wasn’t even sure he closed the door when he got out.

It didn’t matter. The lights were on in the office.

Alan was standing behind the counter, doing the crosswords and Stiles had the sudden, hysterical thought that he haven’t moved in the last two months. Maybe he was a ghost.

His brain was really fucking frayed, okay?

“I…” the manager looked up at the sound of his voice and there was just the slightest widening of his eyes telling him that he was actually surprised, but he couldn’t stop now. “I would like room 27… Please.”

Alan opened his mouth, but nothing came out of it for a second; he closed it before trying to speak again.

“I’m sorry but… we’re full.”

Oh.

Stiles felt like the floor was yanked out from under his feet. He had to grab the counter for a moment to stop himself from falling.

He didn’t know which possibility he prefered; that the man was straight out lying to get rid of him, or that there actually was someone staying in his… no, not his, the room.

Neither. Yeah, neither.

He turned on his heels. He was having tunnel vision; everything was getting kind of blurry except for the door. He had to get out. Right now.

“Stop.” Alan’s voice sounded forceful, not shouting exactly, but definitely fiercer than he’ve ever heard. Some stupid pavlovian reflex made his steps falter just for an instant, but it was enough for the man to reach him.

The manager’s hand clamped down hard on his elbow while his other arm grabbed him around his middle from behind. Stiles tried pulling away, but he felt faint and kind of fragile so it didn’t do any good. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing from the bottom of his heart that he could close his ears too. He didn’t want…

“Open your eyes,” Alan said, almost back to sounding like his normal, collected self, “and look at the parking lot.”

He couldn’t fight down the instinctive need to obey, a part of him whispering that ‘come on, looking couldn’t hurt’. He had to blink a few times because his vision was blurry.

There were cars. Everywhere.

The man gentled his hold, shifting his arm so that his palm lay flat against Stiles’s chest, right over his heart. It felt hot even through the layers of his clothes.

“Two trucks collided on the interstate a bit farther up; one of them was a tanker, it was carrying gas and it’s all over the road. They had to put up a roadblock until they can clean up the spill,” he explained, “a lot of people got stranded.”

He didn’t remember there being more traffic than usual, but considering his current state of mind? He could have drove by a herd of elephants without thinking anything of it.

Stiles swallowed but his throat still felt dry. Okay. Okay, so what now?

Alan turned him around carefully. Looking at him, Stiles noticed that he grew out his bead a bit and had a mustache to go with it. He never really liked facial hair.

It was sexy as fuck.

The man was looking right back at him, face unreadable, but Stiles still winced on the inside. Yeah, he wasn’t in the best shape; the last time he looked in the mirror - sometime in the morning, a lifetime ago - he was pale with dark circles under his eyes and lips bitten raw. He looked like a junky or something.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Alan was quicker.

"No talking," he said, and the familiar words were like a sedative, making Stiles lose the tension in his body, knees shaking with the strain of keeping him upright.

The man kept his arms around him as he was led behind the counter and into the manager’s private rooms. It was dark and he was too wrung out to have a look around, he just let Alan pull him to a chair in the bedroom.

He was undressed with minimal cooperation on his part - his limbs felt like they were made of lead. The man left him for a second, returning with his collar that he buckled around his neck quickly and efficiently. Stiles let a shaky breath leave him, the feeling of being seconds away from falling apart irreparably lessening a fraction.

The collar was tighter than last time, not tight enough to make it hard to breath, but enough to... to keep him together.

Alan tied his wrists to the d-ring and threw a blanket on the floor at the end of the bed.

Stiles didn’t even wait for an invitation, he lay down obediently, curling up and closing his eyes as he was tethered to the feet of the bed. The manager smoothed a hand over his flank before standing.

"There still might be people trying to find a room for a few hours. You're going to take a nap until I have time to deal with you."

Stiles modded his head against the scratchy blanket. For the first time in weeks he felt like he could fall asleep.

He did just that.

***

He was woken by Alan prying his lips open and fitting his gag into place. He moaned sleepily, even though he was feeling more rested than he had in a long time.

Stiles was untied from the bed and his wrists freed, but there was a hand covering his eyes before he could blink them open.

"I want you to keep your eyes on the floor and your head bowed," Alan told him.

His heart started thudding heavily at the words.

"I will lead you to the middle of the room, but you are not allowed to get up, you are staying on all fours, understood?" he asked, only taking his hand away after Stiles nodded.

He averted his gaze as soon as he was able to see again, the need to do everything right gnawing on his insides. He got on his hands and knees and Alan led him by his collar over the few feet of distance he had to cross. It felt much farther, crawling.

"Very good," he said, patting the back of his head when they stopped. "Sit back on your heels and bend forward. Forehead on the floor, hands on your knees. That's it."

He could hear Alan walk around the room, opening drawers, doing god knows what. He felt very small, folded over himself and curled as small as he could. His cock was twitching between his thighs, filling steadily.

The man’s shoes grinded against the fake wood floor as he crunched down by Stiles head, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of the polish on his loafers. Alan rubbed his hand between his shoulderblades.

"You didn't come here blind this time, so I expect you to be on your best behavior. Disobedience will be punished."

Stiles shivered, the muscles in his calfs twitching.

Alan kept petting the vulnerable curve of his back, his palm feeling hot enough to burn.

"For now you will be staying here with me - at least until the room is unavailable - and there are some rules you have to obey," he explained calmly. Stiles had a feeling this wasn't about wiping his shoes or how he should leave the toilet seat.

"You're not going to talk unless asked, as per usual. In my rooms - meaning the bedroom and the living room - you will stay on all fours, you are absolutely forbidden to stand except when I order you to."

The air around him felt hot and tight against his skin, like there was some invisible pressure surrounding his body, pushing down from all directions.

The manager’s hand didn't stop stroking him even as he broke out in a sweat.

"I will not treat you with kid gloves, then again, you wouldn't be here if you wanted to be coddled, hm?"

That didn’t sound like a question he needed to answer so he just pushed his forehead tighter against the floor, letting Alan’s even voice tell him what to do.

"Alright, that's enough about rules for now. We will start with a light warmup and then we are going to take care of you properly," he said before standing.

Stiles didn’t know what to expect, muscles coiled tight as he listened to Alan idly walking around him. When the first hit landed he almost jumped out of his skin, more from the shock than the actual pain.

"Don't move, stay as still as you can," he commanded, hitting him again quickly.

It was some kind of a flogger - he thought that’s what it was called -, something with multiple strings or cords or something. It stung as it landed on his back again and again, but mostly it made his skin burn.

He breathed through his nose, the manager didn’t leave him enough time between the strikes to tense up or brace himself and after the first dozen or so he just relaxed into it.

There was saliva dripping to the floor from his open mouth. His cock jerked with every hit raining down until it was throbbing constantly, with little, electric shocks of pleasure.

Alan kept a steady rhythm, the hits always cracking against his back with the same force, but never at the same stretch of skin twice; one would bite the top of his ass, the next come down between his shoulders and so on for endless moments.

Stiles was soaking it in, eating the pain and the burn up with a hunger that was almost scary.

He couldn’t think. He tried to count the hits but he couldn’t manage to keep the numbers straight so he was forced to give up, letting his brain flutter around aimlessly.

The strikes stopped as suddenly as they started, the silence feeling deafening with only the sound of his breathing trying to break it.

Alan crunched down - by his side this time - and just stayed there for a long moment, Stiles could feel his gaze almost like physical touch.

"Very good," the man told him quietly, even though he didn’t think he did anything praiseworthy.

He hissed - as much as he could through his gag - as the tips of the manager’s fingers skidded gently along his spine, his skin felt on fire.

"Your head is in the right place now for a little more... Raise your ass, yes, just like that. Keep your head on the floor."

The tight feeling in his back eased a bit as he straightened it out, the relief making him moan. Alan reached between his legs and got a hold of his cock, pulling it back; he could feel the shoelace with the cord stop being fitted around the base and pulled close.

He was breathing hard. The flogging haven't been bad, but he knew that something bigger was coming.

“You will get ten strikes, I will count them out for you,” Alan told him, “One.”

Stiles couldn’t help shouting as the burst of sharp pain exploded against his ass. It was a cane, or something similar and it left a brightly burning line of fire across both of his asscheeks. It hurt. It hurt really bad. Really good. He couldn’t… he couldn’t think.

“Try to stay still. Two.”

He heard the way the rod whistled through the air before connecting, but it didn’t prepare him properly. The sensation was so much different from before; so much harsher and deeper - his brain was still stuck on the gentle rhythm of the flogging - making every hit with the cane a shock.

“Three.”

Stiles was unable to stop himself from clenching his hands on his knees, from rubbing his head against the floor that was already slippery with his sweat. He made little choked off sounds that tore out of him without his permission.

Every strike had a bit more force behind it than the last.

By the sixth, he was gone, swept under by the waves of pain washing over his body.

His brain was completely blank, there was a noise - he had a brief flash of memory about being a kid, about a trip to the beach… shells that echoed the sound of the ocean - and it pushed out everything else. He knew they weren’t gone for good, but for now, just for now he wasn’t worried, he didn’t feel anxious or inadequate or angry. He didn’t feel.

He heard Alan counting in the distance, his voice barely audible through the noise, but enough to serve as a thin, fragile line of connection between him and reality. He didn’t understand what he was saying but somewhere deep down he knew that he didn’t need to. It would end with ten - his brain supplied - even though it meant little to him as he floated on the sensations licking at his insides.

“Ten.” Alan said, the word calling him back, almost like was waking from hypnosis. The last hit came down on the bottom of his ass, just where it meets his thigh. It came down hard, almost too much to bear and he screamed with it, could feel it resonate in his bones.

His knees slipped on sweat and suddenly he wasn’t sure he could keep himself up, but the man was right there, with an arm around his middle, holding him steady. His whole body was shaking and the pain just didn’t seem to stop, it only morphed - torturously slow - into a deep seated, blistering ache.

“Everything is okay, you took it so good. You took it wonderfully, sweet,” the man said, the small, almost offhanded endearment sending a shiver down Stiles’s spine, a little chill that numbed some of the burning of his flesh.

He almost choked on his own saliva as Alan loosened the cord lock around his cock. He wasn’t as painfully hard as he had been after the flogging - he thought that he would have gone soft if he had been able to - but the blood was rushing back into his dick fast. The manager took hold of his erection and started to pull on it with his fingers curled just perfectly, like he remembered exactly how Stiles needed it. The thought had his cock jerk and it didn’t take long before he came.

His muscles locked with pleasure as his orgasm hit, making the abused muscles of his backside scream and it just pushed him higher and higher until there were white flashes of light dancing behind his eyelids.

Alan was the only thing stopping him from collapsing on the floor bonelessly and he was the one who ended up half dragging-half carrying him to the bed. Stiles barely knew what was happening around him, the last few hours; the long drive, the anxiety of being here again, the pain that sent him flying - all of it was just too much to take.

He was laid down on his stomach, the soft sheets under his body making him feel like he was drifting on a cloud. Alan disappeared into the bathroom, but it only took a moment for the mattress to dip under his weight as he sat down by his hip. He undid the gag.

Stiles opened his eyes slowly. He had to blink a few times to be able to focus; the lights were dimmed in the bedroom and there was a little jar sitting on the bedside table filled with a greenish cream. Alan picked it up and started to apply it to his skin, starting from the top of his shoulders.

It felt like heaven on earth; chilly and relaxing, chasing away the burn. There was a herbal fragrance filling the air, there was mint in it - probably - but mostly it just smelled natural and soothing.

Stiles just breathed for long moments, staying as still as he could. The manager’s fingers rubbed the salve gently into his abused skin, not pushing down too hard.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Alan asked quietly.

He didn’t know how exactly, but just from the quality of his voice Stiles knew that this was just a question from one person to the other and not part of... of whatever they were doing.

He thought he owed a man an explanation.

"My dad got shot, two weeks ago," he replied, voice scratchy. He had no idea if it was the result of the screaming or his emotions.

Alan’s hands stilled for a second.

"Is he alright?"

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to remember that phone call.

"Y-yeah. He's a sheriff. Someone tried to rob the grocery store," it was hard to talk, but he pushed himself forward, wanting it off his chest. "He got hit in the shoulder - in and out, no complications."

He took a shaky breath.

"I managed to get leave from college, I will have to write a shit-ton of papers when I go back to make up for missed time, but they gave me three weeks to go home."

"So why aren't you home?" Alan asked.

Yeah. Good question.

"I... I was. I went home right away. But, well... My dad doesn't take well to being babied and I don't take well to being reminded that he's mortal so..."

He hissed as Alan reached his ass. It hurt way more than his back, he could actually feel that the skin was raised and inflamed in a few places.

"I love him like no one else, we're all each other has, but our personalities clash on occasion - under too much stress... Anyway, we had a... Well, not a fight really, we just kind of blew up on each other and I thought it would be less nerve-wracking for both of us if I left."

Stiles swallowed. There was a lump in his throat. He knew that his dad was okay. Melissa promised to look in on him and make sure he didn’t push himself.

"I still have a week left from my leave... But I couldn't make myself go back to school."

There was silence for a couple of long moments.

"I'm glad you came to me," Alan said finally, voice sincere.

Stiles had no idea why, but those few words loosened something in his chest.

"When do you need to be back?"

He rubbed his face against the pillow. He was tired.

"Ugh... I have to be in class on Monday. Next Monday. Is it... Is it still Sunday?"

"It was already past midnight when you got here," Alan told him, he could hear the smile in his voice. "Okay. You will stay until Saturday morning, I want you to have some time to rest before school, alright?"

Stiles closed his eyes. Yeah, he could do that.

“Good,” the man said, finishing up with applying the salve.

His fingers lingered for a moment, following a particularly painful strip of skin. It made Stiles shiver.

“You already have stunning welts and they will be even more beautiful by tomorrow,” Alan told him conversationally, and just like that, they were back in their places in this… He refused to call it a game. This something that was too big for a name.

Come tomorrow, he wouldn’t be allowed to talk anymore and that thought made him pause, confused. There was still something he needed to… He was just so tired.

Alan got up to put everything away and turn off the light.

The bed dipped again as the manager lay down, pulling on Stiles gently until his head was pillowed on the man’s shoulder before the cover was tugged up over the both of them.

Sleep was just a second away, almost luring him under, but something… something was nagging at his fuzzy mind. Something important.

Alan palmed the back of his head, gently scratching at his scalp.

Oh. Oh he remembered. He never actually got around to introduce himself, not even last time.

“My name… my name is Stiles,” he said, barely comprehensible as he balanced on the verge of sleep.

Alan made a small sound, something between a snort and a chuckle.

“I will remember.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the following:  
> \- Angst (not much)  
> \- Slight bondage (Stiles is collared, his hands are tied, he is tethered)  
> \- Impact play (flogging and caning)


	2. Monday - part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, long time no see!  
> I know I said I would post more regularly and instead disappeared for a few months, but in my defense, life was kicking my ass (it still is, but I'm hopeful that I will be able to pick up working on this verse)...
> 
> A few announcements!
> 
> First of all, the lovely and amazing tumblr user [steters](http://steters.tumblr.com) made a [photoset](http://steters.tumblr.com/post/113960019566/room-27-by-udunie-im-going-to-come-soon-i-want) for Room 27 and it is AMAZING! You should definitely check it out and reblog it, if you're on tumblr, because it doesn't have the notes it deserves. (and also, if you're reading this, steters, drop me an ask or leave a comment with ANYTHING you want to be included in this fic, and I swear I will deliver)
> 
> Second, I would like to thank two wonderful people for helping me get over my block:  
> [frankcastles](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com), who kept me from giving up, and who is all around a wonderful person, and  
> Emma, aka [gemstonewriter803](http://gemstonewriter803.tumblr.com) who not only gave me the last push to finally update this fic, but also offered her invaluable beta skills - because she is an angel sent from the kinkier parts of heaven.  
> So yeah, without them you wouldn't be reading this, for sure.

Stiles woke with a start. His heart was beating hard and fast as the last threads of his dream slowly dissipated. It wasn't exactly a nightmare - but only because it was rooted so deeply in reality, in what could have happened if his dad was just a little bit less lucky... There was sweat sitting flimsily on his skin, Alan's warm body against his own making everything a bit too hot. Uncomfortable.

He had to take a piss.

Stiles got up, trying not to disturb the man sleeping next to him. He would just make a quick run to the bathroom. That had to be okay, right?

He only managed to take one step.

"Stop," Alan said, not sounding sleepy at all.

He froze, facing the white door of the bathroom. It was only a few feet away.

"I was just-"

"Stiles, stop," the man repeated with a touch more emphasis. The sound of his name was like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. What was he doing? His hands began to shake.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, just to let Alan know too. Shit, he wasn’t supposed to be talking.

It didn’t make sense; he wanted to be so good yesterday. He still… he still wanted to be, but he just. He was confused.

“That’s okay,” the man told him. He didn’t sound mad, but Stiles couldn’t make himself turn around to look, to make sure. “I need you to get down, head on the floor.”

He did, dropping to his knees and curling around them like his strings were cut, taking up the position from yesterday. The floor felt cool against his brow, grounding.

He could hear Alan sit up, hear the soft tap as his bare feet landed, and then nothing. It was hard to breath. He thought he might be close to a panic attack. He fucked up. He fucked up so much.

“I’m not angry,” Alan said from behind him. His voice sounded even - too even for him to get a reading on his mood, but the manager never lied to him before, so he forced himself to fill his lungs with air.

“Obviously, you will be punished.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes together, unwillingly making a little, desperate sound in the back of his throat.

“But first, you are going to apologize,” Alan prompted.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, and he was, he really was.

“Good, but not enough. What are you sorry for? What did you do?”

He breathed through his nose, licking his lips nervously before speaking.

“I… I was supposed to stay on all fours and I stood up... and I wasn’t supposed to be talking without permission and I did…” he had to take a second to get his thoughts together, he remembered… there was more. And shit. Yeah, the rules from last time. Shit. The rules, the rules were so fucking simple and he fucked it up. “And… and I was supposed to s-suck you off after I woke up, before doing anything else. And I… I’m sorry.” His voice was trembling by the time he finished and he was actually crying a little. His emotions were going totally crazy. Maybe he was going a little crazy too.

“Yes, exactly,” Alan said calmly, “you disobeyed every order you’ve been given in the first minute after waking up. Why do you think that is?”

“Because I’m stupid,” he replied immediately. Honestly, there was no other explanation.

The man hummed and got up, sitting on the floor crosslegged beside Stiles. He put a hand on the nape of his neck, petting him.

“No, no you are far from stupid, sweet,” he said, and that little endearment smoothed over his frizzled nerves like a magic elixir.

“I think you were looking for a punishment,” Alan explained and Stiles took a small, hitching breath, because that sounded even worse than just being stupid - that sounded like he was needy and attention seeking and… The manager squeezed the back of his neck.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Sweet little things like you do that sometimes - unconsciously, even - it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Stiles didn’t know about that. He shook his head against the floor silently, even as a part of him grew calm and content at the mere mention of getting punished.

“You had a rough few weeks, it’s completely understandable. But, that doesn’t mean that we are dropping everything else. You are going to take care of me, then we are going to eat and clean up. And then, then we will see about your punishment.”

Alan tugged on his neck until he uncurled, turning him so his head was over the man's lap. He opened his mouth without further encouragement, sucking on the half-hard dick in front of him.

The manager didn't need too much before he got completely erect. After he made sure that Stiles knew what he needed to do he just leaned back on his hands and watched.

Stiles had to realize that his gag-reflex was back - but he knew how to work around it by now. It didn’t take long to have the thick cock all the way down his throat and when he choked, he almost welcomed the sensation of his chest desperately heaving for oxygen.

He used every trick he learnt; working his tongue on the base, the muscles of his throat around the head... everything he could think of to make this good for Alan. He was so desperate that he gagged again and again, but he didn’t care about it, his face was already a tear-stained mess anyway.

"Easy, easy..." Alan said quietly after he started choking for the umpteenth time. There were fingers in his hair, tightening and trying to slow him down. He didn't mind, the sharp tug on the strands just made him more stubborn.

In the end the man had to pull him completely off, cradling his face between his palms and looking into his eyes intently.

"Stiles," he said, "I'm not angry with you."

He had to close his eyes, not even understanding why he had such a hard time believing the words.

"I'm not,"Alan repeated, "but I will be, if you get yourself hurt unnecessarily."

Stiles flinched, closing his eyes, no, no he didn't want Alan to be angry, he wanted him to... He needed to...

The manager thumbed away his tears carefully.

"I don’t think I can trust you with this right now," he said, making his chest tighten with shame. "Open your mouth."

He did. The man let go of him, taking hold of his saliva slick cock and jerking it quick and hard, pointing the tip to his tongue.

"You're not allowed to swallow. I want you to keep my come in your mouth, understood?"

Stiles nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on Alan's cock, mesmerized. He could do that. He could.

The man came with a soft grunt, the bitter taste of his semen landing in Stiles’s mouth. He waited until the manager finished before closing his lips carefully, the unique flavor of come flooding his tastebuds.

"Very good. You will keep it for me, hm? Get back in position."

He didn't need specification, just curled up with his head on the floor, the turmoil of his feelings placated by Alan’s taste even as he heard the man leave the room.

***

He was still there when the manager returned. Something clattered on the small table in the corner.

“Alright, come here,” Alan told him.

Stiles got on his hands and knees slowly. The man was sitting by the table, a tray of food in front of him; he crawled towards him carefully, keeping his head down.

He needed to get this right.

“Very good,” Alan said when he made it between his parted legs, “straighten up.”

Stiles did, sitting back on his heals, gaze locked on the man’s shirt. It was blue again, a different shade from yesterday.

“Open up, show me.”

He parted his lips, his mouth was overflowing with saliva from not swallowing for so long. The man cupped his face, pushing a thumb in and down against his tongue, massaging it in little circular motions like he did that first night. Stiles closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of it.

“Excellent. You may drink it now," Alan said, his gaze burning against Stiles’s skin as he finally swallowed the come in his mouth. As strange as it was, the small burst of accomplishment of doing even this much helped a bit with the whirlpool of confusion swirling in his chest.

They ate in silence, Stiles kneeling there, taking small bites of food from Alan’s hand as the man had his own breakfast. The quiet was good. He knew that it should feel much more degrading to be hand fed like a... a pet or invalid or something, but it didn’t, it was almost like being cherished.

They finished with the manager giving him his meds and absent-mindedly Stiles thought that if nothing good came out of coming back here at least he was going to be taking his Adderall regularly again.

"Alright, get in the bathroom, I will be right back," Alan told him, stopping after a few steps with the tray in his hands. "And stay on all fours."

Stiles nodded to himself at the reminder, but still waited until the manager left the room before starting to crawl. He couldn’t help feeling incredibly awkward and exposed when Alan watched him move around like this . Which was almost funny considering the man had his whole hand inside him and he wasn’t sure you could get any more exposed than that.

Alan’s bathroom was a bit smaller than the one in room 27; there was no tub, just a sink, a toilet and a shower stall. Stiles stopped in the middle and curled over himself again, the way that was slowly becoming familiar. The tiles were hard and smooth against his forehead.

He was still feeling a bit restless; he had to  piss and his cock was half hard even with all the anxiety of this fucked up morning. It was confusing.

Alan didn't make him wait for too long.

"Very good. Get in the shower while I get undressed, you can piss over the drain," he said, making Stiles’s face turn deep red. He was kind of hoping to use the toilet, but after everything that happened today, he wasn’t about to argue.

He crawled into the stall and relieved himself after a few seconds of hesitation where his bladder fought his self-consciousness. He aimed carefully, not wanting to stand around in his own piss while he waited.

Watching the yellow liquid rush down the drain was more fascinating than it had any right to be and for some reason the smell of it made his cock twitch. He didn’t want to think about the time he spent in the diaper, but he couldn’t help himself, opting to squeeze his eyes together to ward off the memory.

Alan stepped into the shower only a second later, but instead of starting the water he bent over Stiles and forced two thick, generously slicked up fingers into his hole. He couldn’t withhold the moan that tore out of him from the intrusion, not with the burn feeling both painful and shockingly pleasurable at the same time.

The manager hummed, apparently satisfied with his reaction and withdrew his fingers just as suddenly, pulling Stiles to kneel upright as he stood.

He was tugged close to the man by his collar until he was right in front of him, a bit to the side - just enough that Alan could fit a leg between his knees. Stiles felt his eyes roll back with the first touch of his cock brushing against the hairy skin just below Alan’s knee.

He was pulled even tighter against the man, his head cradled to the firm stomach.

"That's it. I want you to reach back and hold your asscheeks apart. Start fingering yourself."

Stiles swallowed thickly as he obeyed. His own fingers were longer, but a bit more skinny; he could easily fit two in, and it wasn't long before he added a third, despite the awkward angle.

Alan kept a hand on the back of his head and started rubbing his soft cock against the side of Stiles’s neck.

For a few confused seconds he thought that the manager started the shower as he felt the first splash of hot wetness against his shoulder. But as soon as the smell hit his nose he knew what was happening.

Alan was pissing on him.

His whole body seized up as his brain tried - and failed - to come up with a proper reaction. He could feel it, feel the urine trickling down his back-

"Keep fingering yourself," Alan reminded, voice casual.

The simple order was enough to nudge him out of his shock and he moaned, suddenly terrifyingly aware that he was painfully hard, that piss was washing over the crack of his ass, wetting his fingers that started pumping with a desperate rhythm into his hole.

Stiles couldn’t help his hips jerking, rubbing his angry erection against Alan's leg even as his brain screamed that he should recoil.

"Shh, it's okay."

Stiles didn’t even notice that he started making little, unarticulated noises, mouth open and panting against Alan's dark skin.

"Come if you can, you won't have a chance to get off again until tonight."

He whined. The smell - the smell kept filling his nose, overloading his senses. Piss was still running down his back, feeling almost scalding against his skin, but that alone wasn’t enough to push him over the edge.

The flow of urine was thinning, as he desperately rutted against the manager’s leg. He knew - even without being told - that he wouldn't be allowed to come once it was over, but he was still so off kilter that he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it.

Alan hummed, seemingly unconcerned with his struggle, and shook his cock as he was finishing up; a stray drop landing on Stiles’s lower lip. He licked it off unconsciously, not even realizing what he did until the taste - unfamiliar but still unmistakable - filled his mouth. His body jerked, hips stuttering forward with enough force that Alan had to steady him as his fingers spasmed in his hole.

He came, the euphoria of it mixing with shame and the tang of piss.

Stiles sagged against the man, barely noticing the shower actually starting a second later, still floating on a cloud of endorphins. He stayed kneeling through the whole ordeal; letting Alan scrub him down like a ragdoll and then just kind of collapsing in the corner while the manager washed up too.

He only got his wits together when the water stopped, and his cheek was gently patted to get his attention.

"I'm going to get dressed," Alan said, handing him the showerhead. He leant down and popped the cover off the drain. "I want you to clean yourself out. Properly. Understood?"

Stiles nodded, sharply aware of everything around him once again. He still had no idea what to think of enemas; he remembered what Alan had said the last time he was punished - that he was actually enjoying them - but when he did it to himself yesterday before coming here it wasn’t anywhere near mind blowing. Just mildly uncomfortable.

"Good. After you're finished you may stand up to rinse off, get dry and wash your teeth while I get everything ready in the bedroom but I want you down on all fours immediately after," he explained confidently, apparently not worried about him breaking the rules again.

Stiles nodded one more time, shivering as he watched Alan’s retreating back before shaking the restlessness creeping over him again.

He had work to do.

***

He finished pretty quickly, partly because he just wanted to get it over with, and partly because he actually felt out of sorts while he was standing, like the ground was dangerously far away, as stupid as it sounded. Not to mention that it was a great distraction to get his thoughts away from what happened. That he came while Alan was… No, not thinking about it.

Stiles gave himself one last look in the mirror; the bags under his eyes were almost gone, only a shadow remaining from the dark circles. He had the distinct impression that it was just partly thanks to the good night’s sleep he got.

He got down on his hands and knees by the slightly ajar door and waited for Alan to come and get him - and introduce him to whatever punishment he cooked up.

He was pretty sure that it wouldn’t be enemas this time, otherwise it wouldn’t be set up in the bedroom, but the manager had proven time and time again that he was capable of doing terrifying - and amazing - things using only whatever he had laying around. It filled Stiles with a nervous kind of anticipation. It wouldn’t be fun, that he was absolutely sure of, but a part of him knew that he deserved it. Needed it, even.

The door opened, Alan standing right in front of it, looking neither surprised nor pleased that Stiles was where he was told to be.

“I’m finished, come,” he said, leading the way to the bed that was covered in an assortment of items; belts, a bottle of water, what seemed to be part of an umbrella and… tennis balls? And that was only what he could catch a glimpse of.

Alan sat down on the edge of the mattress and pulled him to kneel on all fours in front of him, sideways.

“I think the best way for you to learn the rules, is practice. That’s what’s your punishment is going to be; you are going to practice to stay down and not talk,” he said, picking up a belt.

It was obviously used, and it had holes punched into it all the way to the buckle - so it could be tightened as much as needed.

Alan took hold of his ankle and bent his leg so his heel was touching his ass; he wrapped the leather around his thigh and calf and pulled it closed until his leg was locked like that.

Stiles felt his pulse speeding up; he saw people tied up like this in porn, mostly in ‘petplay’ or whatever it was called. The manager quickly repeated the process with his other leg and in a few seconds Stiles was left literally balancing on his hands and knees, already feeling the burn in his muscles from the unnatural position they were forced into.

“See? Now you won’t be able to stand up,” Alan explained, smoothing his palm over his back soothingly. “But that’s not all. Give me your hand,” he commanded, getting hold of the wrist Stiles offered. “Good, make a fist for me.”

The manager wrapped a dish towel around his hand and used a roll of duct tape - careful not to catch his skin - around it, then did his other one too. When he was finished his hand was completely enveloped in the fabric; he could still move his wrist, so he didn’t have to put his weight on his knuckles, but he couldn’t use his fingers.

Mittens. Fucking mittens.

Stiles was shaking slightly. There was no way he would be able to free himself like this. He wasn’t scared that Alan would let anything happen to him, but the helplessness  of it was still jarring.

“Almost finished, just a few more things,” Alan murmured.

The next thing he picked up was the crooked handle of an umbrella. There was a hole drilled to the part where it was supposed to connect to the umbrella itself.

Stiles felt himself grow hot in the face as he watched the manager lube it up.

“It’s not too thick - or particularly long - so it shouldn’t make things too difficult for you, but you will definitely feel it,” he explained, before pushing the shorter part into Stiles’ ass.

He couldn’t help moaning a bit at the feeling. The handle wasn’t as thick as a cock, but it still stretched his hole quite a bit. Alan picked up a bungee cord - the kind with metal hooks at both ends - and fixed one end to the umbrella handle and the other to the d-ring on Stiles’ collar.

Alan hummed, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair.

“Try getting down to your elbows,” he dictated, watching with rapt attention as he obeyed. The bungee cord pulled tight, forcing the handle to push deeper into him while making it hard to breath as it forced his collar backwards. Stiles wanted to think that he didn’t enjoy either sensation, but who did he exactly want to fool?

“Very good,” Alan said, pulling him up to his hands by a gentle hold in his hair.

He cupped Stiles cheeks and turned his head towards him.

“I want you to wiggle your toes and fingers as best as you can,” he said, smoothing his thumbs over the boy’s eyebrows.

Stiles closed his eyes in concentration for a second as he did what he was told. Everything seemed to be in working order.

“Is anything feeling numb or painful?” Alan asked, eyes intent as he waited for a reply.

“No,” Stiles said, knowing without being told that the manager wanted verbal confirmation. He shifted a bit and licked his lips before adding, “Well, my knees, kind of…” They weren’t exactly hurting just yet, but he was pretty sure they would become a mess in no time.

“That can be helped,” Alan said with a small smile. He picked up a couple of fabric pot coasters - they were pretty ugly, but almost as thick as a finger. The manager bent down and lifted first one of Stiles’ legs, then the other, carefully fixing the squares to his knees with medical tape. When Stiles tried again he was still far from comfortable, but at least he was pretty sure his joints would hold out.

“Now, come along,” Alan ordered as he stood, picking up a yellow plastic basin and what seemed to be a bag full of bright green tennis balls. He walked to the corner of the room, and put both down, careful to roll the mouth of the bag down.

Stiles crawled after him - slow and awkward with his lower half balanced on his knees.

“Pick up a ball,” Alan told him, waiting while he complied. The cord pulled tight as he leaned down, making him almost topple over from the sensations. The tennis ball felt rough against his lips.

“Good. No, no,” Alan chided as he saw Stiles turning towards the bowl, “That’s not where it goes.”

The manager picked up a similar green bowl from the bed, and another bag, and walked towards the door.

Stiles blinked after him, sweat breaking out on his forehead from just the thought of making that far with his current set-up.

“Stiles, come,” Alan called. His voice wasn’t impatient, but it was obvious that there was no place for argument.

He went. The manager was waiting for him in the short corridor separating the bedroom from the living room, and as soon as Stiles caught up to him, the man made his way to the farthest corner of the living room.

Stiles swallowed - the simple act made uncomfortable by the ball held between his teeth and followed.

“Good,” Alan said when he finally managed to crawl to the corner. “Green balls go in the green basin,” he said, placing the green basin and the bag of yellow tennis balls next to it in the corner “Yellow balls go to the yellow basin,” he explained, pointing back over his shoulder to the bedroom.

There were at least ten balls, and he had no way to carry them other than one-by-one in his mouth. Shit. Just getting in here was hard as fuck and he had to make the trip twenty more times?

Stiles felt himself start to shake. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it and the impending sense of failure made him want to throw up.

Alan knelt down beside him, and took his face in his hands, waiting until Stiles met his eyes.

“This is a punishment, remember? It’s supposed to be hard,” he said, face serious and calm, making Stiles’ heart slow down from it’s near panicked thumping. He had no idea what it was in Alan’s voice that grounded him, but it worked every single time.

“You will have an hour to take as many balls to their place as you can. When the time is up, your punishment will be over. If you can finish, good. If you can’t, we will icepack your erections for every ball you missed, but either way, your punishment will be finished in sixty minutes. The only way you can fail is if you don’t try. Understood?”

Stiles took a shaky breath. One hour. He probably won’t be able to finish, but he could… he could try for one hour, right? Right.

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. His muscles were already shaking from being forced into this position, but he would fucking try.

Alan smiled and gave a small kiss to his forehead before standing, the simple gesture making Stiles’ skin break out in goosebumps.

“Alright. A lot of people already checked out, so I have some cleaning to do. I will be back when the time is up,” he said, letting his eyes take in Stiles’ tied up form one last time, then he turned on heels and left him in the corner.

Stiles glanced after the manager nervously. He wanted to do this right, the nagging need to make amends for his fuck-up burned hotly in the back of his throat.

He had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the following:  
> \- Watersports (Alan pissing on Stiles)  
> \- Bondage (as part of punishment, imagine a 'petplay' setup with the legs tied in a bent position that would make standing up impossible, though there is no actual petplay)


	3. Monday - part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!  
> It seems like I'm on a roll, so here, have another chapter! :D
> 
> Again, I would like to express my eternal thanks to the lovely Emma (gemstonewriter803) who did the betaing - all remaining mistakes are mine, and mine alone!
> 
> Also, come talk to me on tumblr, if you have something to say!

Stiles could feel it as a drop of sweat rolled down his forehead; it slid down his nose and trembled for a few seconds on the tip before finally falling into the basin in front of him, absorbed by one of the tennis balls.

His whole body was shaking, muscles pulled tight, on the verge of cramping and completely giving out on him. He couldn’t move. His lips felt rubbed raw from the rough surface of the ball he was holding between them but for some reason he couldn’t find the strength to just let it go.

He was so fucking exhausted.

He just… All he wanted was to let himself fall to the ground so he wouldn’t have to keep himself upright anymore.

There was a cool palm cupping the back of his neck - appearing seemingly out of nowhere - but he had no energy left to flinch from the surprise so he just closed his eyes and tried to breath.

“Very good, Stiles. The time is up,” Alan said, voice quiet, but still feeling too loud after only listening to his own panting for the last hour.

“Drop it.”

Stiles’ body jerked, he swore he could actually hear his jaw creaking as it obeyed the manager’s command and let the ball fall. It bounced on the others in the basin, and rolled under the tv stand.

Stiles swayed in place for a few dangerous seconds, but before he could collapse, Alan was scooping him up like he weighed nothing, and gently deposited him on the couch.

He blinked dazedly up at the ceiling as the pillows dipped beside his hip and careful fingers started working on the makeshift mittens on his hands. He knew that if he just closed his eyes he would be out like a light - even with the pain throbbing in his overworked limbs, but he didn’t want to.

Alan was uncurling his fingers, one-by-one, massaging the middle of his palm with just enough force to make the ache go away. When both of his hands were free, the manager pulled them up to lay beside Stiles’ head, squeezing his wrist lightly to let him know that he was to keep them there.

“You did very well,” Alan told him as he peeled the padding from his knees.

Stiles licked his lips - they were puffy and painful -, he almost made it. Thinking back now, it was amazing, that he actually made the trip nineteen fucking times. Honestly, he wanted to give up around half-time…

He couldn’t help his body spasming as soon as the manager released one of his legs - the blood rushing back into his muscles was like someone setting his bones on fire. Stiles squeezed his eyes closed, the only thing keeping him from actually screaming was Alan, who immediately started kneading his thigh and calf while murmuring soothingly under his breath.

“Shh, it’s okay, almost finished,” he said before untying his other leg too, and rubbing his flesh until the pins-and-needles disappeared.

By the time the hook in his ass was the only thing left of his bondage Stiles was completely worn out. He expected Alan to get rid of that too, but instead the manager just shifted lower on the couch; maneuvering himself between Stiles’ legs, and started prodding around his hole.

He couldn’t help whimpering when the man worked a finger in beside the handle of the umbrella.

“It made you nice and loose,” Alan commented, pulling free but returning shortly with more lube. Stiles whined in the back of his throat, biting at his already tender lips, when the man added a second finger.

“I’m going to fuck you like this,” he said nonchalantly, curling his digits to rub against Stiles’ prostate, not even glancing up as his back arched off the couch at the stimulation. “It could be good practice if you ever want to have two cocks in you at the same time.

Stiles gasped, unable to control his reactions, even though by now he knew that whenever Alan was talking to him about things like these, the man was cataloging the smallest twitch of his fingers.

The manager hummed, pulling back and unbuttoning his jeans with steady hands. It wasn’t fair. Stiles was shaking apart.

Alan knelt between his thighs, taking care to arrange Stiles’ - still sore - legs around his hips before guiding his cock to his hole.

“Deep breath,” he ordered, waiting until the boy complied, and then started to push the head of his dick in beside the handle of the umbrella. Stiles’ fists clenched and unclenched as he struggled to relax himself, it wasn’t exactly painful - Alan made sure of that - but it still felt huge. The dual sensation of the unyielding plastic and the hot flesh of the manager’s cock was making his head spin.

It took a few moments for the man to bottom out, but the resulting stretch and burn was so intense, so filling, that it had Stiles panting. Just a few minutes ago he didn’t think he would be able to get hard with how worn out he was by his punishment, but apparently his body had one last little reserve of energy; his cock twitched on his stomach, filling slowly as Alan started to rock into him with tiny motions of his hips.

He was so out of it, that he almost didn’t hear the manager clucking his tongue.

“You know we can’t have that,” Alan said, almost mournfully. Stiles blinked up at him, dazy with fatigue and arousal, not understanding a thing.

The man stopped his languid thrusts for a second, bending down to the side, and  picking up a bundle from the coffee table. He held it out for Stiles, who didn’t think anything about it, until he took it in his hands and was immediately shocked by the cold weight of the package.

Ice pack.

Stiles started shaking his head, eyes closed tight against the threatening tears. No, no god. He didn’t want to… He couldn’t…

“Hush, you had one ball left. That means that your hard-on has to go,” Alan told him patiently, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against the skin of Stiles’ hips. “The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

He sniffed, unable to stop himself from crying. He was just so tired. And Alan felt so good inside him, he wanted to enjoy it, just, just a little…

“Come now, sweet,” the manager coaxed, still calm but with a bit more intent behind his words. “You’re not allowed to have that erection, and I want you to make it go away.”

Stiles looked up at the man with something close to betrayal. It wasn’t fair. He did good, didn’t he? Didn’t he deserve a break? Just a small one.

Alan’s face betrayed nothing of his thoughts, and the firm lines of his face refused to smoothen out into mercy.

His hands, his hands were gentle though, as he reached up to lay a palm on Stiles’ stomach just above his cock.

“Stiles, do you need me to start counting? Because you will have to do this again for every second you are wasting.”

He felt his breath go shallow at the possibility, he was sure that Alan would deliver on the promise, and that… He wasn’t sure he would survive that.

His hand was trembling as he brought it closer to his groin, stopping just an inch from making contact with his skin. It was probably just his imagination, but he could have sworn that he already felt the cold radiating from the bundle.

“That’s it, very good,” Alan told him, getting his hips into motion again. It felt so amazing that Stiles had to close his eyes.

“Just a bit more, sweet. I know you want to feel good, but you’re only allowed to do that when I let you.”

He felt a shiver run down his spine - the thought of being so much under someone else’s control making him want to retreat into a dark corner and hide, and, at the same time, urging him to open up everything for the man fucking him so leisurely that it was bordering on disinterested.

He swallowed, trying to get his hand to move, even as his brain was begging him not to, to just let himself enjoy what the manager was doing a bit more. But. He knew he was running out of time.

Stiles’ whole body spasmed when the icepack finally touched his erection, it was so shocking that he instinctively wanted to jerk his hand back, but Alan’s fingers were already there, holding it down and forcing him to push the freezing package against his dick harder.

Stiles sobbed - he wasn’t able to do anything more, really, not with the numbness slowly seeping into his body, snuffing out the pleasant burn of his arousal.

Alan just kept on fucking him slowly, aiming his thrust to graze Stiles’ prostate with every move.

“Yes, very good, Stiles, just let it go.”

He thought he actually talked; nothing that made sense, just a jumbled repetition of ‘no’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘please’, but he wasn’t even sure. Alan kept his hand there for a few torturous moments before gently prying Stiles’ unresponsive fingers off the pack and taking it away.

Stiles let him do whatever he wanted, there was no fight left in his body, so he just closed his eyes and let himself be rocked into unconsciousness by the slow pumping of Alan’s cock in his ass.

 

* * *

 

He dozed for a while, dimly aware of Alan finishing inside him - and some indefinite time later that he was being cleaned up with a warm washcloth. He was fed a few sips of lukewarm water. Somewhere along the way he got turned to his side; he remembered grumbling something in discomfort when the hook of the umbrella handle was removed from his ass, but after a blanket was tucked around him, everything went dark and fuzzy.

The next thing he remembered was Alan getting up.

His feet were warm and tingly, like someone had been petting or massaging them while he slept. Stiles felt a small bubble of warmth in his chest at the thought of Alan sitting on the couch with his feet in the manager’s lap.

The man left the room quietly, probably thinking he was still asleep.

The tv was turned to some WWII documentary, with the sound muted. It was all strangely domestic.

Stiles snuggled deeper into the blanket thrown over him, enjoying Alan’s scent that lingered on the fabric. But, that didn’t stop him from straining his ears to hear what the man was doing. He was pretty sure someone came into the office; there was the sound of talking, but too low to make the words out.

A few seconds later he could hear Alan’s steps getting closer and for some reason he closed his eyes and feigned sleep... Even though he knew it was stupid and childish, he didn’t want to get up from his comfy position.

The manager sat down beside him, and brushed the hair out of his forehead.

“Come on, sweet, I know you’re awake,” he said, and the smile was evident in his voice.

Stiles blinked one of his eyes open, but as he saw Alan’s face growing serious he looked up at him properly.

“There’s a deputy here who would like to see you.”

Stiles felt his heart stop. Could it be something with his dad? They would have called first if something went wrong, right? Shit, where was his fucking phone?

He tried to get up despite the protests of his overworked muscles, almost falling off the couch. Thankfully Alan was there, steadying him with firm hands.

“It’s okay, it has nothing to do with your father,” he said immediately, rubbing a palm over Stiles’ naked back. “Everything’s alright, sweet, just breathe.”

It took a few moments for the words to sink in and for him to calm down. Leaning against Alan’s warm body helped.

“He’s from the next town over. Apparently they received a complaint of someone screaming in my rooms yesterday,” the manager explained with a touch of humor back in his tone after he was sure that Stiles wasn’t about to have a panic attack.

Now, that made Sties heart beat funny for a completely different reason. He knew - or at least vaguely remembered - that he was pretty loud last night. Hell, he could still feel the welts on his ass now that he was sitting. But how will they explain that to a cop?

Alan gave one last pat to his shoulder before standing and holding out a bathrobe for him.

“He would like to see my ‘company’ in person, to make sure that I’m not managing the Bates Motel. You may stand, I wouldn’t want to make a scene.”

Stiles nodded - mostly to himself - and stood on shaky legs, deciding to go along with however Alan wanted to deal with this.

It should have been embarrassing that he needed the manager’s arm around his waist to be able to walk - what with his knees acting like they would buckle any moment - but in reality he welcomed the support. And not just physically.

The officer waiting for them was not what Stiles expected; for one, he was young - okay, he actually looked like a Disney prince.

Stiles had been around police officers all his life, so while he knew that most of them were pretty decent, it was also true that they weren’t usually open to alternate sexual ‘lifestyles’. But this guy didn’t seem disgusted by finding out that Alan was entertaining another man, he actually seemed pretty serious and professional.

“Stiles, this is deputy Parrish from the Liberty Woods Sheriff’s Department. Jordan, this is my guest, Stiles,” the manager introduced simply, maneuvering Stiles to the counter so he would have something to lean against. It didn’t slip his attention that Alan was on first name basis with the officer. Hopefully that would make this whole thing easier.

“Good morning, deputy,” he said, because it was never a bad idea to be respectful.

Parrish raised an eyebrow, eyes cutting to the clock on the wall. It was two in the afternoon. Fuck.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, without further comment. He took a good look at Stiles - probably searching for signs of injuries. His gaze lingered on his neck, the scrutiny making him swallow instinctively. Shit. Shit, he was still wearing his collar.

Stiles was pretty good at reading people, and he had the impression that Parrish was getting a bit flustered. The officer shifted on his feet before taking out a notebook. Probably just to have something else to look at.

“We had a complaint today from a couple staying here last night. They reported screaming coming out from this building. Could you tell me something about that?”

Oh god, this was bad. ‘I was getting beaten until I came’ was probably not the best thing to say, even though it was the truth.

“I can assure you that nothing illegal or nonconsensual was happening, though I would prefer not to elaborate,” Alan said very diplomatically.

Parrish tapped the tip of his pen against the paper in his hand before looking up, taking care to look straight into Stiles’ eyes - and only his eyes.

“Can you confirm that, sir?”

Stiles cleared his throat nervously.

“Yeah, yeah I can. And also an enthusiastic yeah on the ‘not elaborating’ thing.”

“Alright. One last thing. Are you legal? I would like to see an ID,” Parrish said, looking at his notes again, and thankfully missing Stiles’ panicked expression.

Fuck. Stilinski was a pretty rare name and everyone talked about his dad getting shot in the last few weeks... He actually knew that one of his dad’s men transferred to Beacon Hills from Liberty Woods PD. Oh god, this will definitely get back to his dad…

Alan’s hand gave a fleeting squeeze to his hip as he passed behind him, opening a locked cabinet and pulling out Stiles’ backpack. He rummaged around in it for a few minutes before producing his driver’s licence. He glanced down at it before holding it up for Parrish to see.

The officer squinted at the card before looking up at Alan.

“I can’t quite see the name from your thumb.”

Alan gazed back at him evenly.

“I’m sure you can see the picture and the date of birth, Jordan.”

Parrish opened his mouth, probably to request that the document be handed over, but Stiles beat him to it.

“Really, officer! It’s a total Code 12, nothing illegal is going on,” he said hurriedly, hoping that the fact that he knew the code for ‘false alarm’ would catch the guy’s attention.

Thankfully it did.

Parrish glanced at him with badly covered surprise, so Stiles decided to push a bit.

“My… I have family in law enforcement,” he explained and watched with relief as the guy looked back at his ID with understanding drawing on him.

It was Parrish’s turn to clear his throat.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. He nodded for Alan to put the licence away, but kept his gaze on the manager.

“But really, doc. There are some… unsavory rumors going around about this place, so please be a little more careful. I wouldn’t want to have to arrest you for... something,” he explained, obviously still not perfectly content.

Stiles blinked first at him, then at Alan in confusion.

“Wait, are you a doctor?”

The man gave him a little smile after he zipped the bag closed.

“I am - or I was - a veterinarian, I had a little practice in Liberty Woods before inheriting this place,” he said, eyes sparkling as he took in Stiles’ dumbstruck expression.

Parrish also chirped in, for both of their surprise.

“Yeah, the doc did the surgery on my Spikey for hip dysplasia,” he admitted, almost sheepishly. Stiles realized that he was stalling.

Alan looked at the deputy for a few long seconds in consideration.

“Jordan, would you be more at ease if Stiles called you regularly while he was staying here?”

The officer scratched his head with the end of his pen, glancing at Stiles.

He knew he looked wrecked; he was still thinner than he should have been, and he was pretty sure that his eyes were red and swollen from crying so much earlier. And he was wearing a fucking dog collar to top it off. Honestly, it was no wonder that Parrish didn’t feel good about just leaving him here like this.

“Yeah, yeah… that would be good. How long are you staying?”

“I’ll be leaving on Saturday,” Stiles told him dutifully, watching from the corner of his eye as Alan slid a piece of paper to Parrish.

The officer wrote down his number then gave them one last look.

“I want you to call me every day. If you don’t, I will come back around to make sure you’re okay. Roger?”

Stiles nodded, and watched as the deputy walked out with a little wave over his shoulder.

Well, that wasn’t as bad as he feared.

He didn’t notice that he was fiddling with his collar until Alan clasped his wrists in his hands and pulled them away.

"Everything alright?"

Stiles licked his lips. That was a direct question, shame that he wasn’t sure how to answer it. He couldn’t say exactly why, but he felt wrongfooted somehow. He had quite a scare with the cops showing up.

Alan smoothed his palms up along his arms and shoulders until he was cupping Stiles’ neck in both hands.

"I think it will be good for you to have someone to check in with," he said, nodding towards the way Parrish left.

Yeah, probably, but that still didn’t settle the nervous twist in his stomach.

The manager looked at him for a few moments, then took Stiles’ phone out from his bag.

“Maybe you should get back on the couch and call your father while I make lunch?” he asked, handing the phone to him.

Stiles took it with slightly shaking hands. Yeah. That would be nice.

 

* * *

 

They did just that. Alan guided him back to the living room, and headed to the kitchen. The privacy was welcome; he would have felt weird if someone stood over his shoulder while he talked to his father.

His dad picked up on the second ring.

“Hey kid, you arrived okay?” There was something in his voice - some residual wariness left over from their argument.

Stiles swallowed, suddenly having no idea what to say.

“Ugh… Hi, dad. I actually stopped at a friend’s for the night. But I will get back to school soon,” he admitted. It was always easier with half-lies.

His father was quiet for a few seconds, the static between them filling with a bit of tension.

“You’ve already taken quite some time off, don’t waste too much fooling around,” his dad finally said. And yeah. That was apparently still a sore spot.

“Look, it’s not like I can’t make up for it! What did you expect me to do? You were shot, I couldn’t exactly go on like everything was peachy!”

His dad sighed. He sounded tired. Stiles wondered if he had enough sleep; he wasn’t supposed to exert himself.

“Kiddo, there was no reason for you to drop everything. I’m an adult. Believe it or not, I can take care of myself, even with only one working hand.”

Stiles huffed out a breath. He really didn’t want to continue where they’ve left off. He might not have been a model child, but he was pretty sure that no one could fault him for worrying.

“Okay, listen, let’s just… not. I only wanted to check in and ask if you have someone to take you to that appointment. You know, the one scheduled for tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, I know, and yes, I have. Melissa is taking me. She also brought over some ‘proper’ food, so you don’t have to nag me about my heart, okay? You have enough on your plate as it is.”

Stiles couldn’t help his lips twitching into a smile. If no one could fault him for worrying, it was also true for his dad.

From the corner of his eye he could see Alan standing in the door with a tray in his hands. Now that he was aware of the food his stomach started grumbling.

“That’s good then. Listen, I have to go now. Take care, okay?”

“I always do, you too, Stiles!” his dad said, and finally his voice sounded back to normal.

He disconnected and watched as Alan placed the food on the table - some kind of pasta with thick, delicious looking sauce - and sat down beside him.

“Finished?” the man asked, picking up the plate and lifting a forkful to Stiles’ mouth. He opened obediently. He was too hungry to put up a fight about getting fed, even as his hands twitched in his lap uselessly - it was strange to not have anything to do with them.

“Hm...” It was even better than he hoped. He swallowed before answering. “Yeah, thanks.”

Alan fed him a bit more after taking a bite himself, offering a bottle of water for him to meddle with.

The food disappeared quickly between the two of them. It was either the best meal Stiles had in a while, or he had been more famished than he thought.

After they were finished Alan ordered him to kneel by the couch - on one of the thick throw pillows, thankfully - and stripped him off his bathrobe before disappearing with the tray and his phone.

When he returned he was bringing his toolbox too.

Stiles swallowed, suddenly nervous.

Alan sat down, putting the heavy box on the floor before getting a hold of Stiles’ chin. His thumb rubbed at his lips for a few seconds before inevitably pushing inside to play with his tongue. Apparently speaking was over.

“I’ve told you that you will _not_ be coming until tonight,” he said, looking at Stiles with calm focus. “And now we are going to make sure of it,” he explained, popping the box open.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains:  
> \- bondage (continuation from previous chapter)  
> \- cock-and-ball torture (Alan icing Stiles' erection)  
> \- double penetration (Alan's cock and an object)  
> \- some situational humiliation (Stiles has to talk to someone while wearing his collar)  
> \- foreshadowing of chastity


	4. Monday - Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I would like to grab this chance to mention something that I've neglected until now:
> 
> There is a very good reason why the characters of this fic don't use condoms, namely: that I get a kick out of writing Stiles drenched in come inside and out... but! That does not in any way mean that this sort of behavior would fly in the real world!  
> Do not, under any circumstances engage in unprotected sex, unless you are absolutely, 10000% sure that you and your partner are completely exclusive, and both of you are regularly tested (or if you are trying for a kid, though even then STI/STD is still a threat!)
> 
> Okay, so the PSA out of the way, let me thank my lovely, incredibly helpful beta, Emma for her work on this chapter - she helped me out a lot with letting me bounce ideas off her, as well as with correcting my (many, many) mistakes.
> 
> Thank you so much!

Stiles watched anxiously as Alan rummaged around in the toolbox.

Making sure that he won’t be coming until tonight? That didn’t sound ominous. At all.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about cock cages. For the rest of the day you won’t be able to get hard or get off…” he said, trailing off as he found the things he was looking for.

Stiles watched with nervous apprehension as the manager produced a piece of pvc tube and a zip tie from the box. The tube was an elbow, bent at about 45 degrees.

Alan either didn’t pick up on his nerves - which he very much doubted - or simply didn’t care.

“There are chastity devices that can be worn 24/7, even while out and about. Of course, this won’t be quite like that, but it should do for an afternoon.”

Stiles shifted in his position. His hands kept clenching and unclenching on his thighs. They did orgasm denial before - but that was mostly the result of Alan milking him to the point of too much, not like… like this.

The idea bothered him, though he didn’t exactly understand why; yeah, he was a horny college kid, but it wasn’t like he spent all his time jerking off. When school was too exhausting, and he only had enough energy to flop into his bed when the day was over he sometime went without rubbing one out for days. But…

Alan sat down on the floor in front of him.

“Part your legs,” he ordered, pulling the zip tie through a small hole at one end of the pipe. Stiles felt his muscles twitch at the command - his body apparently learning the lesson about obedience way before his brain did - but he held out.

Alan gave a him a look with his eyebrow raised in question. That look said that he wouldn’t be taking shit, not for long, anyway.

“Stiles, are you sure you want to land another punishment so soon?” he asked.

Shit.

Stiles squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head vehemently, but there was something gnawing at his insides and it just refused to budge. He just… he just didn’t get it.

“No, no. Open your eyes,” Alan commanded, though his voice was gentle as he cupped his cheek.

Stiles obeyed, feeling a bit surprised when a few teardrops escaped as he did. He thought he was finished with crying for the day, but apparently not.

“No need to get yourself worked up about it; you know we will do it either way,” Alan said calmly, but it wasn’t what Stiles wanted to hear at all. He took a shuddering breath, feeling a heavy sense of dejection settling over his shoulders.

The manager looked at him intently for a long moment with his gaze searching.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t talk about what’s bothering you, though…” he said after a while, rubbing his thumb slowly against Stiles’s skin.

“What makes you so upset about this, sweet?”

Stiles licked his lips. He wasn’t really sure, it was just a nasty, nagging sense of ‘wrong’, but he trusted his ability to blurt out something useful once he got going.

“I just… I don’t know. I don’t get this whole cock cage thing? I mean… What’s so good about it? It’s not like, I mean,” and just like that, he realized what had been troubling him. “do you… Don’t you want me to feel good?”

And well. That was the million dollar question. Stiles just couldn’t get it into his head; the notion of not being able to get hard or come because Alan decided that he shouldn’t. Somehow it sounded a lot like the man not caring about his pleasure - or possibly about him, at all - and that was… He didn’t like that.

Alan considered him seriously for a few seconds, even though Stiles felt a bit stupid, now that he said it out loud.

The man took his hand away, put the ‘parts’ he was holding down and instead enveloped Stiles’s clenched fists in his own.

“I do, absolutely, want you to feel good. Though I admit, that I don’t necessarily equate you having access to your cock with you ‘feeling good’.” There was a bit of a quirk to his lips, but strangely enough, Stiles didn’t feel like he was being made fun of. “There are other ways to get pleasure that you haven’t tried, and I will make sure that you do.”

“Yeah, but,” he had to pause to get his thoughts in order. Alan waited him out patiently. “We usually… I mean, isn’t coming usually the goal when we’re doing something? Like, here, I mean - not in a… an existential way or whatever.”

The manager was openly smiling by the time he finished, and it made Stiles blush. Alan squeezed his hands before speaking.

“I think of it more like a pleasant side effect. But yes, we usually finish with you coming. I didn’t say that you wouldn’t be coming at all, just that you wouldn’t come for a few hours,” he explained and it eased Stiles’ worries a little that the words didn’t feel patronizing, or like he was getting a lecture.

“I get that the concept of orgasm denial is not easy to understand for a healthy young man - and definitely not an appealing one - but it’s more than that. For one, the payoff will be much more pleasurable,” he said, letting go of Stiles’ hands and running them up and down the outside of his thighs. He couldn’t help shivering at the touch.

“I can see that this scares you a bit, but you will have to try, because it’s not up for negotiation. You did actually end up enjoying everything I’ve introduced you to so far, even if you don’t like to admit it, and I believe that you will find something good about this, too.”

Stiles swallowed, reluctantly allowing Alan to part his thighs with insistent, gentle hands.

The man picked up the pipe and generously slicked the inside with crisco - it was just the right width to slip it onto Stiles’s soft cock, there was even a bit of extra room. The tube was pointing downward, and it was short enough that the very tip of his dick peeked out at the end of it. Alan worked quick; he looped the zip tie behind Stiles’ balls, and then pulled it closed - not too tight, just enough to make sure he couldn’t wiggle out from the contraption.

The manager gave a gentle tug to the tube to check if it was fitting alright.

Stiles was trembling, just barely, but he couldn’t stop.

“Just a second more,” Alan said. He puttered around in his box for a bit before finding what he was looking for; a cap of some sorts that had a hole drilled into it that was about the size of a finger.

The tube on Stiles’ cock was threaded on the outside, and Alan carefully screwed the cap on, tight enough that the tip of his dick was touching it from the inside.

“There you are. All fit. You can even piss, if you sit on the toilet - so there’s really no need to remove it until I decide so.”

Stiles didn’t react, he was too preoccupied with staring at the light gray plastic enveloping his cock. It looked weird. It felt weird. He hated it.

Alan didn’t try to snap him out of it, he took out some rope and then packed up in silence. He ruffled Stiles’ hair as he stood, but otherwise made no comment as he hefted the toolbox up and walked out of the room.

Stiles couldn’t get over this whole thing. It made him nervous and a bit freaked out, much more than he had been when he was unable to get it up because he was milked dry. He couldn’t help wondering what it will feel like when he get’s aroused. Or tries to. Whatever.

Will it hurt? He trusted Alan that he wouldn’t get injured, but still. It was a bit scary.

He was only jostled out of his thoughts when Alan called his name from the doorway.

“Stiles, come,” he said simply, with the rope still hanging loosely in his hand.

Stiles bit his lip as he got on all fours; it felt unbelievably strange to crawl with that… that thing between his legs. He had to keep his thighs a bit apart to avoid them brushing against it.

Alan let him stand up once he made it through the door and he was led to the office. There were blankets under the counter and after the manager tied his wrists to his collar he crawled under.

“Your knees had quite the strain today, so you may lay down,” he said, waiting for Stiles to get into position.

It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it took some time for Stiles to arrange his legs in a way that would allow him to more-or-less ignore the cock cage.

After he finally managed to settle down Alan stepped to his usual place, shuffling around on the countertop and then Stiles could hear the click of a pen.

He felt restless just a few minutes in. He wondered how long he will have to stay there. Tried to guess what the man planned for later. Then he thought about all the schoolwork he had to make up for - basically anything to take his mind off his current situation.

He didn’t notice that he started fidgeting until Alan pulled one of his socked feet out of his slipper and planted it firmly on Stiles' hip.

It made him freeze. The manager wasn’t exactly stepping on him, just rested his leg there like Stiles wasn’t anything more than a footrest.

He barely dared to breathe for long seconds, even though he knew that Alan didn't want to hurt him. It was unsettling. Stiles closed his eyes and tried to relax to no avail. After a while all he could concentrate on was that point of contact between them; the scratchy texture of the sock and the warm weight of Alan’s foot.

Funnily enough, focusing on that was  what actually did the trick and made the tension leak out of his muscles.

Being on edge was really fucking exhausting.

Mostly, when he thought about ‘stress’ he thought about his dad’s job, or Melissa always working. Maybe finals week. It rarely - if ever - occurred to him how much he himself actually worried about little things; getting to class in time, oversleeping, not sleeping enough, what other people thought of him, whether he had enough change for a coffee…

Lying naked under a counter with his junk restrained while a man twice his age used him as an… an object put things in a bit of a perspective.

There was nothing to fuss about. He wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t cold, he wasn’t even particularly uncomfortable… It was pretty similar to warming Alan’s cock, except it was more impersonal, maybe because there wasn’t even anything sexual about it.

A few times people came in to check out of the motel - he couldn’t help his body going rigid with the thought of being found out, but Alan didn’t give anything away. Sometimes he would change legs, but he always kept that point of connection between them, even while talking to people about whether they had a good night’s sleep or not.

His brain filtered out the conversations after a while - it didn’t concern him anyway, he wasn’t a person right now.

For whatever reason his brain latched into that elusive feeling - of being something instead of someone and let it grow. The noises, no matter if they came from humans, or the distant sound of traffic from the highway, all blended together until they didn't make sense anymore.

He didn’t need to hear them.

He kept his eyes open, but wasn't actually seeing anything. It was comforting to let them just stare into the air, unfocused.

There was a strange feeling slowly creeping into his body, a kind of conviction that he wouldn't be able to move a muscles, even if he tried. First, he instinctively wanted to test it; lifting his index finger just a fraction of an inch, but the urge soon evaporated. He let it go.

He had no idea how long he stayed like that - and it didn't feel like he just lost track of time, but more like his body, or maybe his mind, shut off. Strangely, it wasn't frightening or unpleasant, it actually felt like it was completely natural.

His awareness crept back slowly, and at first he didn’t know why. He had to blink his eyes a few times and willingly concentrate on understanding the sounds around him.

Someone was licking him.

It took a few minutes for his sluggish brain to make sense of the wet, rhythmic sensation against the crease of his thigh.

Maybe that was the reason why he didn't immediately freak out when he glanced down and saw a terrifyingly huge dog there, licking away just a finger's width away from the plastic covering his cock.

Alan wasn’t stepping on him anymore - Stiles had the impression that he shuffled back to let the animal get closer, but he didn’t actually remember it happening.

The dog - it was black with bright blue eyes, probably some mutant husky mix - caught his eyes for a second. Whatever the animal saw in his gaze, he was satisfied with it, because it stopped with the tongue bath, and instead lightly nudged the cockcage, making Stiles suck in a shaky breath. He tried convincing himself that it was only the dangerousness of having sharp teeth near his junk that prompted the reaction.

He was pretty sure that Alan wouldn’t let him get chewed by a monster dog, but he couldn’t help freaking out about it as the fog on his mind slowly cleared.

“Alright, pup, that’s enough,” said a smooth voice from the other side of the counter, and the dog obediently trotted out of sight.

“I don’t mind,” Alan said mildly. He glanced down at Stiles for a second and then stepped back into place, though he kept his feet in his slippers.

“A room for two then?” he asked.

“Yes, me and Derek will be staying for a day or two. Depending on what we can find for entertainment around here,” the voice replied, and Stiles had the uncomfortable feeling, that whoever the guy was, he knew exactly what was under the counter.

“The usual road trip?” Alan asked, turning around and tinkering with the keys hanging on the wall behind him.

“Oh, you know my lovely nephew. It’s the anniversary of the… ‘accident’. Derek is too much of a martyr to spend it around the family; he needs a bit of a firm hand to get over himself. Well. Firmer than usual.”

The dog whined. Maybe the guy stepped on his foot.

“Alright, here you go.”

Alan handed over the keys, followed by a moment of silence. Stiles had the suspicion that he held a silent conversation with the man on the other side. The dog whined again, quieter, but no less pitiful.

“Well, see you around,” the voice said finally. “Come on, pup. It seems like we will be left to our own devices for tonight.”

“Later, Peter,” Alan said firmly and then Stiles could hear the guests leave. He couldn’t help wondering about them.

* * *

They had a quiet dinner in the kitchen, with Stiles on his knees, being hand fed by Alan. It wasn’t as strange as usual; mostly because Stiles was willing to concentrate on basically anything that wasn’t the cock cage between his legs. He wished he was allowed to start up a conversation, he wanted to ask about this Peter guy.

Not about the dog, though. He didn’t care about the dog.

After they were finished he was made to crawl back to the bedroom, and get on the bed on his back. Alan used soft scarves to bind his wrists to the headboard - tight enough that he couldn’t get out of them, but with enough slack left for a bit of movement. Stiles couldn’t help wondering what the reason behind forgoing the usual ropes was.

The manager ran a hand down the middle of his chest before starting to rummage around in his toolbox, for the second time that day, making Stiles swallow nervously. Ever since the cage has been put on him he expected the man to have some plan for him other than just chilling around.

“It hasn’t been much of a challenge so far, has it?” Alan asked, glancing at his groin, like he was reading his thoughts. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I hope you got used to it.”

He pulled out an old shell-phone - probably from the time before the rise of the smartphones. It was obviously designed with ladies in mind; first of all, it was pink. The shape of it was also rounded, no sharp lines or cutting edges, when closed it was actually like a large, slightly flattened egg.

Stiles watched perplexed as Alan flipped it open, and then produced some string - about a feet of it - and tied one end around the middle of the phone before snapping it closed.

Alan tested the knot, letting the phone hand on it, before pulling out a condom from the pocket of his jeans.

Stiles was getting more confused by the moment.

The manager opened the foil and pulled the condom over the phone so the string was coming out the mouth of it. He took his time to smooth the rubber out before tying it off - string and all.

Oh.

Stiles had a feeling that he knew where this was going, and to his trepidation there was a slight, warm stirring in the bottom of his stomach at the idea. Though, why Alan would use an outdated phone as a sextoy, he had no clue.

“Feet on the covers,” the manager dictated, climbing between his legs as he did it. “It’s a bit thick, but I don’t think it will be too much of a problem.”

It didn’t take long for the man to have two fingers in his hole, scissoring carefully but insistently, before inserting a third.

Stiles tried thinking really unsexy thoughts. He was grateful that Alan wasn’t aiming for his prostrate, and stretched him with nothing more than almost mechanical efficiency.

The phone was pretty big. Not the biggest thing that Stiles had in his ass by far, but he could still feel it sitting heavily in there. Alan pushed the device in deep, far enough that it was poking things Stiles did not want it to - not when he couldn’t get hard - but if he stayed still, he was almost okay. The string hanging out of his ass was a bit ticklish, but nothing he couldn’t manage.

Alan wiped off his slick hand on Stiles thigh before tying his ankles to the bottom corners of the bed, spread, but with enough give that he could raise his knees a little.

“All set,” he said. Stiles didn’t get the twinkling, almost mischievous glint in his eyes, not even when the manager pulled his own phone out and tapped the screen.

Of course, a second later, when the phone in his hole started vibrating he understood.

His back arched off the bed, and the soft bindings made a lot more sense when he almost pulled a muscle with the force of his body trying to curl in on itself.

It only lasted for a second or two, but he was already panting with a dark, heavy flush spreading down to even his chest.

He gasped for breath, looking at Alan with the sort of desperation he never knew he was even capable of feeling. He was going to die. Already, even without seeing it, he could tell that his dick was trying to grow thicker, to straighten and fill with blood. Except it couldn’t, not encased in unyielding, bent plastic.

Before he could say a word - he didn’t care about fucking punishments, he had to talk the man out of this - the ring gag was already forced into his mouth, leaving him with no way to convince Alan that this was a bad idea.

“I’m going to leave you for a bit; now that everyone except Peter and company checked out I have a lot of rooms to clean.”

He patted Stiles stomach before standing and slipping his phone into his pocket.

“I’m going to call you every time I finish with a room; there’s seven left,” he said, and Stiles  eyes were filling with tears. “I will hold the call for one ring after the first room, two after the second and so on.”

Stiles shook his head, close to panic. Alan didn’t seem fazed, but he did bend down to press a light kiss against his forehead.

“Nothing bad will happen to you, all you have to do is enjoy having your body focus on things other than your cock,” he said, before walking out of the room.

* * *

Stiles lost track of the rooms; it could have been the third or the sixth that Alan have just finished - it didn’t really matter anyway, because he was dying.

It felt like his skin was stretched to the limit, tight and hot and very close to simply breaking open. Even the air was torture.

The manager left one of the windows slightly open and the slightest breeze was enough to make Stiles feel like all his nerve endings were on fire. And his nipples? Oh god. His nipples had been pebbled and aching from the second time the vibrations started.

Hysterically, Stiles thought that they acted like little dicks; getting all hard and sensitive now that his cock couldn’t.

Stiles loathed the cockcage from the bottom of his heart. His dick fattened as much as it was able, filling out the pvc to the point where it was almost painful. Honestly, he never thought that his cock could be so sensitive; the small hole that had been cut to the cap of the pipe was just big enough that when the air moved it felt like a physical brush against the tip.

It was maddening.

And it wasn't just his dick that seemed to grow oversensitized; now that his arousal had nowhere to concentrate it was spreading out over his whole being, like a blanket, or the sheen of sweat gathering on his skin.

Every cell of his body was electrified by the fire that should have been reserved for his hard-on.

Stiles closed his eyes. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, and even that felt like it gained a few hundred thousand more tastebuds since this whole thing started.

He was going to go crazy.

He tried thinking about something that would help him regain control over his body, but it was impossible. Between every part of him feeling on fire and his ass rhythmically clenching and relaxing as it tried to chase the pleasure of the vibrations against his prostate, he was helpless.

He had no way to measure the time, so every time the ringing started was like a punch to the gut, and every time the hazy, crazed moments of dealing with the effect of it lasted longer.

He shouldn't have been surprised that when it next started he wasn’t even finished with shuddering through the aftershocks of the last.

His whole body arched off the bed, limbs pulling uselessly on his bindings, even though he knew it was no good. His brain was screaming with need as the phone rattled against his insides and just kept on going and going until Stiles was actually nearing unconsciousness.

When it was finally over, he was left there in the silent room with his chest struggling for breath and his thoughts replaced by white noise. He couldn’t help pumping his hips into the empty air for a few long minutes, uncaring that it did nothing to relieve the unbearable pressure inside him.

He was actually so out of it, that he didn’t hear the door opening. He had no idea how long Alan just stood there watching him humping the air with tears sliding down his face.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked as he walked into the room casually.

To his utmost humiliation Stiles couldn’t immediately stop his hips from jerking; they made a few more aborted movements before he was able to stay still.

Alan sat down beside him, caressing his chest with the back of his fingers, but it was still enough to send Stiles practically mewling through his gag.

"Are you ready to finish, sweet? Or would you rather keep going a while longer?"

Stiles shook his head, though he had no idea which question he was answering.

Alan hummed, before skimming the tip of his fingers across a darkened nipple.

"What will it be? You've been good, so I think I will give you a choice," he said, watching with rapt attention as Stiles' hips twitched of the bed on their own accord.

"We can either take the cage off now, and then I'm going to hurt your cock until you come," Stiles couldn’t help squeezing his eyes together, just the thought was enough to have him start crying in earnest. "Or we can leave it on for the night and I will jerk you off in the morning."

No. No no no. He couldn’t, it was impossible...

"It's your decision, but either way, when I take your gag out, I expect you to either say 'please hurt my cock' or 'please let me keep the cockcage'. Nothing less, nothing more."

Stiles kept throwing his head from side to side until he was dizzy with it. No. No. Neither. He felt so delicate that he couldn’t even imagine what would happen if Alan touched him in any way stronger than the brush of a feather. But keeping it on? Till morning?

His brain was running in circles of denial, stuttering to a stop every time he realized that not only was he supposed to choose, he was supposed to beg for it.

Alan reached between his legs, and rubbed his middle finger against his hole, dipping it in for a second. He was obviously enjoying how it made Stiles moan and tense up. He couldn’t stop humping the air again, it was the most humiliating thing he ever did, or at least it felt like it. His body didn’t seemed to be his own anymore, but an organism with a mind of his own, only caring about finding relief.

“Alright, time is up,” Alan said, pulling back from his teasing and unbuckling the gag from around his head.

Stiles licked his dry lips, eyes frantically looking around for… he didn’t know what. A solution? A way to get out of this situation?

But all they could find was Alan, sitting beside him calm and collected with an eyebrow raised as he waited for Stiles to make his decision.

“Come now, sweet, what do you want? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes together. Nothing. He didn’t want either.

“It’s okay if you can’t make up your mind yet. I will just watch something on tv and call you in the commercial breaks until you figure it out,” Alan said, like he didn’t care either way.

Stiles sobbed, pulling on his hands in desperation.

His eyes snapped open when he felt Alan’s weight shift on the bed as he was about to stand up.

“H… hurt me…” he stuttered out finally, anything to stop Alan from leaving.

The man smiled, sitting back and laying a palm on the feverish skin under Stiles’ navel.

“Very good. But not enough. Where do you need me to hurt you, Stiles?”

He sucked in a breath, trying to make his mouth work.

“My. My cock,” he whispered, almost too low to be audible, but he could see that Alan heard him just fine.

“Yes, that’s it. Almost there; but I need you to ask for it properly,” he said, sliding his fingers down to rub against the ziptie keeping his cage in place.

Stiles coughed as he choked on his own saliva. His vision was blurry from a new flood of tears as shame swelled up in his chest, hot and unstoppable.

“Please…” he had to take a deep breath, his pride fighting him on every syllable “Please, hurt my, please… please, hurt my cock…”

“Excellent. I will, sweet, don’t worry,” Alan said, eyes warm as he picked up a small scissor from the bedside table. “I will help, but first I need you to stay very still.”

Stiles sucked in his stomach and tried to stop his body from shaking as he felt the touch of the cold metal by the base of his cock. The man got rid of the ziptie first, then very slowly worked the tube of his dick. Stiles almost fainted from just that.

His cock grew hard so fast that Stiles could actually feel the blood rushing there.

Alan put the pipe down, and gave a firm tug to Stiles erection that had him crying out.

“I will slap your cock. You may come as soon as you want,” he said, taking his balls in one hand, pulling them upwards and using them to keep his cock laying flat against his stomach.

Stiles took a hiccuping breath, turning his head to the side and pushing his face against the pillows. The relief of finally being freed was evaporating quickly as Alan got ready to hit him.

“You can be as loud as you need to. Peter certainly won’t be running to the cops from a little screaming,” he said, and the reminder that they weren’t alone in the motel just added fuel to the already burning shame under his skin.

The first hit was actually barely more than a pat, but with his cock - and his whole body - being so incredibly over sensitive, it still made his eyes roll back to his head, the arch of his body only stopped by the firm hold Alan had on his sack. He didn’t even have time to process it before the next one was coming, and then again. The sound of skin hitting skin grew louder every time, just like the strength of the hits.

He did end up screaming. And swearing. And crying so hard that he had difficulty breathing. It didn’t actually go on for more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity. When he finally came it was forced out of him by Alan’s thumb hitting that small spot - hitting it hard, so hard, oh god - the one just under the head of his cock.

He didn’t scream then. His lungs burned empty as his orgasm exploded, sending him spiralling into aftershock after aftershock as Alan took hold of his cock, and jerked him through it.

He blacked out. He didn’t remember, but the next thing he knew was that he was laying on his side in the dark room with the manager spooning behind him. Alan reached around him and cupped his poor, soft cock in his palm. He couldn’t help hissing at even that gentle touch.

“You were beautiful, sweet,” he said, squeezing down carefully. “What do you say when you’re given what you’ve asked for?”

“T-thank you,” Stiles mumbled, letting sleep claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like the chapter? We are finally finished with Monday! I can't believe I wrote so much about a single day... I hope it wasn't too boring.
> 
> Also, let me ask you guys something: what do you think Stiles would ask of Alan at this point in time, if he could ask for anything (I'm thinking kinky stuff, not, like, to have pizza for dinner...)  
> I'm planning something, and I'm looking for ideas because I haven't yet found one that would ring true for me.
> 
> ETA:  
> This chapter contains the following:  
> \- Chastity device/associated orgasm control and denial (worn by Stiles)  
> \- Objectification/Light human furniture (Stiles is lying on the floor and is used as a footstool by Alan)  
> \- Light implication of future bestiality (There is a 'dog' licking Stiles - in a non sexual way)  
> \- Vibrator (used on Stiles)  
> \- Bondage (spread-eagle, on bed)  
> \- Begging/begging associated humiliation   
> \- Cock-and-Ball torture (Alan hitting Stiles' cock)


	5. Tuesday - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so first of all (though you probably know this if you managed to get this far) THIS IS NOT A STETER OR STEREK FIC! 
> 
> Phew, okay.
> 
> Sorry for the late update guys! I had a hellish week last week, and had to scrap everything I've written when I was about half-way done, because it was shit...
> 
> I would like to thank my lovely, wonderful beta Emma (gemstonewriter803) for her help!
> 
> And I would also like to thank Annie and frankcastles for helping me survive last week!

When Stiles woke up, he was a bit disoriented; he was lying on his side, and someone was holding his wrists in a firm hold by his head. That wasn’t the confusing part. But, at the same time there were also hands holding his asscheeks apart and fingers pumping meticulously in his ass.

Wasn’t that too many hands? It took a second for his sleep-addled mind to work it out, and when it did, he felt a small burst of panic.

His eyes snapped open, and immediately fell on Alan, who was sitting crosslegged by the head of the bed. The man squeezed his wrists in reassurance and the gesture - as irrational as it was - eased his worry. It probably should have freaked him out that his first reaction was to relax just because if Alan was okay with whatever was happening, then he was okay, too.

He couldn’t help moaning and shifting his legs as the fingers dug in deep into his hole. They weren’t nearly gentle enough, but Stiles couldn’t actually say that he minded the rough stretch of it.

“Hold still,” Alan said. His dark gaze was intent as he watched whoever was behind Stiles.

“Is he awake?” A voice asked, and the fingers twisted in him, sending a hot bolt of sensation zap up his spine. He knew the voice. It was that Peter guy from yesterday. Fingering his ass.

“Oh, well. Sorry about this, boy,” Peter said, not sounding sorry at all and adding a third finger, making Stiles stifle a groan. “My Derek has been grumpy all morning. I thought he would cheer up if he had a warm hole to rut into, and Alan was kind enough to offer yours. We didn’t necessarily want to wake you up.”

Stiles shivered. A rush of humiliation washed over him at the words as his cock twitched. He couldn’t help thinking about sleeping through the whole thing and then waking up with a stranger’s come leaking out of him.

He was completely hard by the time Peter pulled out, leaving his hole twitching around empty air. He had no idea what they were expecting of him. Should he get on his back? On his stomach? The mattress shifted behind him and he glanced up at Alan.

“No moving,” the manager told him even as he could feel a large muscled body lining up at his back. A second later there was the familiar feeling of a thick cockhead bumping against his entrance.

“Just let Derek relieve himself. This isn’t about you,” Alan said, but Stiles couldn’t help crying out a little as his ass was breached in one, smooth thrust, setting his nerve-endings on fire with pleasure tinted pain. Derek was big. Not as monstrous as Raf had been, but bigger than Alan.

The guy didn’t give him time to adjust; he just hefted one of Stiles thighs up - almost all the way to his chest - and started hammering into him. There was grunting, and a sweaty forehead pushing against the back of Stiles’ head, but it was hard to concentrate on it with his body jarred by the rough fucking.

He squeezed his eyes closed when Derek accidentally managed to nail his prostate, making him see stars and his cock spurt out a string of precome. Alan tightened his hold on his wrists in warning.

“No coming either, sweet. I want you to concentrate on our guest feeling good.”

Stiles panted through his open mouth. The head of his cock was rubbing against the sheets torturously, but his body obeyed on it’s own accord, tightening up as much as he was able to. Derek nearly snarled, picking up the pace at the stimulation. It was so fast that it made it hard to breath.

Through his own heavy breathing Stiles could hear the sound of someone patting skin.

“That’s it, pet. Don’t hold back; you don’t have to make it good for him,” Peter said. The hand on his thigh squeezed down painfully, promising to bruise, and a few seconds later Derek went rigid behind him with a last push of his hips that forced the air out of Stiles’ lungs. In the sudden stillness he could actually feel the cock in him jerking and spurting into his hole.

“There, there. Feeling better?” Peter asked. Derek grunted something. If it was supposed to be a word, Stiles didn’t catch it. “Come on, then. Breakfast is almost ready.”

As simple as that, and the guy was pulling out, uncaring of the way Stiles ass tried to suck him back in. He moaned at the loss, his whole back feeling cold and shivering with the warm body behind him gone. He could hear the two men walk out and then there was just him and Alan left.

“You did good, sweet. Don’t let his come leak out, I’ve just changed the sheets yesterday,” the manager said before standing up and disappearing into the bathroom.

After yesterday Stiles was already familiar with the almost cloying feeling of denied relief, but he didn’t want to think about that. He could still remember begging Alan to hurt him, just to get off, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face it.

He expected to be cleaned up, but to his horror Alan was holding a white cloth and a thick pad that he instantly recognized: diaper.

If he wasn’t already so exhausted, he would have probably tried to get away, but with his muscles turned to jelly, he was only able to flop to his stomach, squeezing his legs together in defiance.

To his surprise Alan didn’t seem annoyed. The man sat down beside him, and smoothed his palm down over his spine.

“We don’t have time to clean you up properly,” he said, tracing his fingers down into his crack and rubbing against his entrance - sticky with crisco and come. “Or to have a bathroom break. You are going to wear it. I promise you’re going to enjoy it as much as last time.”

Stiles shook his head against the pillow. He didn’t. He absolutely didn’t enjoy it. Yeah, so he came after pissing himself but… It was just too much. He couldn’t.

“I’m not going to fight you on this, Stiles. You are going to wear the diaper. You have five seconds to get on your back and part your legs before you get in trouble,” Alan said calmly. Stiles had no idea when he learned to read some of his tones, but he was sure that this was the one that said ‘Don’t fuck with me’.

“One.”

But. But Peter and Derek were out there. They would… see.

“Two.”

Stiles licked his lips. His whole body felt wound too tight. His cock was still hard, trapped under his stomach. It wasn’t getting any softer by the prospect of what he was expected to do.

“Three.”

Shit.

Stiles turned to his back, resolutely looking only at the ceiling as he pulled his legs up and let his thighs fall apart.

“Very good, sweet,” Alan praised. His voice was just as warm as the hands that slid the cloth under him and fixed it around his hips.

The feeling of the fat absorption pad between his legs made Stiles’ whole body flush red. He denied any part to it being arousal.

“All set,” Alan said, patting his stomach. “Crawl to the kitchen, I will be right there.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles stopped in the corridor before entering. He didn’t care if Alan got angry. There was no way he could make an entrance into a room with two strangers on all fours and in a diaper.

The manager didn't comment when he arrived a moment later, just bent down to quickly ruffle his hair.

"Come," he said simply, not waiting for an answer as he strolled in. Stiles swallowed past the lump in his throat before following.

The small kitchen seemed crowded with four people, but he managed to crawl to Alan’s chair without bumping into anything. He tried not looking at anyone, half terrified that any minute he will hear laughter.

Nothing of the sort happened. He still had to just close his eyes and breathe through his nerves before he dared glancing around.

Alan was by the stove, cooking - by the smell of it - ham and eggs. Peter, or at least the person he thought to be Peter, was standing beside him, making toast.

Derek was kneeling by the other chair, watching his uncle's back with rapt attention.

Shit. The guy was fucking huge. Not height-wise, but he was built like a brick wall. He was also hairy as fuck, which made an interesting contrast with the black satin panties he was wearing. His cock was still half-hard, the head peeking out from under the lace trimmed material.

Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine at the thought that that cock was in him just a few moments ago.

Alan and Peter finished with preparing the food; half of it went on a plate that the manager brought to the table, probably for him and Stiles. Peter halved his own, cutting one part into bite size pieces - with the toast and everything - and mixing it into a large metal dog bowl.

Stiles felt his face grow blotchy and red from second-hand embarrassment as he watched the man place the bowl on the floor in the corner. Derek didn’t wait for instructions, just crawled forward and started on it. He didn’t know what to think about it; not only the act itself, but how it appeared to be a completely normal - almost natural - thing for the guy.

Stiles didn’t know if he would ever be able to reach that level of comfort about the things he did with Alan. Peter caught him staring, and gave him a smile that was more sleazy than friendly, making him quickly avert his gaze.

Alan sat down, pulling him closer by his collar and started feeding him, giving him sips of water between bites. The manager kept up a casual conversation with Peter; about books, or that show both of them saw on some nature channel. It was all so domestic, that Stiles only noticed what was actually happening when Alan opened the second bottle of water. Shit. Shit, he had to piss so much.

He closed his mouth mulishly when he was offered a drink again, tensing up when the kitchen fell silent.

"Ah, is your baby boy acting up? Maybe he needs his 'daddy' to spank him..." Peter said sweetly. The comment made his body go even more rigid. Just no. No, no, no. That was one kink he didn’t care about, not now, not when his dad...

Alan cupped his face gently, not even glancing at Peter.

"Kindly shut your mouth, Peter. Stiles, drink up," he said. The straight rejection of Peter's implication was enough to let Stiles relax a bit, but he still refused to drink.

Peter rested his chin on his hands, watching them.

"Come now, kid. If you think I will leave this table before seeing you soil that diaper, you're sorely mistaken. Not after watching you shake that pert little ass when you came in," he said with an actual fucking chuckle. Derek - apparently finished with his breakfast - came over and knelt by his uncle's feet. Stiles could see his cock twitch.

Stiles swallowed, his throat feeling dry. It was hard to breath. Alan finally put the bottle down, bending over to look into Stiles’ eyes from up close.

“Don’t listen to him, he just wants to get a raise out of you,” he said. Stiles could hear Peter huffing out an annoyed breath in the background, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Alan’s eyes. “I don’t want you to do it for his sake,” the manager continued, stroking his cheek with his thumbs.

Stiles didn’t know how much he needed to hear that until he did. He enjoyed Derek fucking him when he woke up. He enjoyed being nothing more than a hole for someone to use, but… As weird as it sounded, with Alan he always knew - no matter what they were doing - that at the end of the day, he was… that he mattered. The man had a way of making him feel cherished, even when he was used as a cock warmer, or a stool, or was fucked by someone else.

Alan always made sure that he was okay. That he took his meds. That he ate. That he slept. Somehow those little, basic acts of attentiveness let him know that he was safe. With Peter and Derek there he felt a bit insecure, not knowing what the manager’s priorities would be…

“I want you to do it, because you are enjoying it and because I’m enjoying it. Because you are beautiful  when you struggle with yourself, and even more when you give in,” Alan told him, with those dark eyes staring right into him. Stiles couldn’t help shivering. Listening to the man calling him beautiful did things to him, made him want to do anything. He never considered himself to be too low on self-esteem, but still… He wanted Alan to see him like that.

Peter made a gagging noise.

“I swear to god, I will season your food with something a lot harder to digest if you don’t behave yourself,” Alan said without looking away, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

Stiles had no idea why he did it, but he looked straight at Peter.

“Maybe he’s the one who needs a spanking,” he said, and was rewarded by Alan actually laughing. He never heard that sound before, but he liked it. Liked it very much.

Peter gave an affronted ‘Hey!’ and slapped Derek on the back of the head when the guy couldn’t keep back a snort.

“All of you are children,” Alan said, shaking his head, but he was still smiling. He picked up the bottle again, and held it to Stiles’ lips expectantly.

He considered it for a second, thinking about not accepting it… Then he took a sip. And another.

“No more talking, sweet. I’m serious,” Alan said, and Stiles could see that it was the truth. “But, I will let you get away with it this once.”

“Rude,” Peter said more dramatically than necessary, and just like, the conversation resumed, and everything went back to ‘normal’.

Maybe a bit too fast for Stiles’ liking, but breakfast was soon over. He took his pill and the last sip of his second bottle of water - even though his bladder felt like it was about to explode. There was a silence in the kitchen again, but this time it was filled with anticipation. He had no idea what to think of three people waiting for him to piss.

He concentrated so hard on not letting go that he was shaking with it and it only grew worse as he could feel everyone’s eyes glued to him. Alan took pity on him, pulling him in incredibly close between his parted legs until Stiles’ chest was plastered to his stomach.

“You need a bit of help, hm?” he asked quietly, palming the back of his head gently. Stiles closed his eyes and gave a small nod, rubbing his face against the man’s shirt.

“Maybe…” Peter said, drawing the word out a bit too long “You could fuck it out of him, pet. What do you think? Give the poor boy a poke from the inside?”

Stiles shuddered, putting his arms around Alan’s middle. His cock twitched, even though he was only half hard from the nerves and the urge to pee. Shit. But Derek only came like, half an hour ago… He couldn’t be up for it, could he?

But Derek just grunted in something that could be taken as agreement - Stiles wondered if the guy was forbidden to talk too, or if he was just the silent type.

Alan’s fingers tightened in his hair, pulling with just enough strength that the pain was bearable, even welcome. A second later Stiles could feel wide, solid hands at his hips before the back of his diaper was pushed down and out of the way.

He was still slick with come and lube from before, but with how desperately he was holding on, his hole was clenched tight.

Derek didn’t care.

The guy shuffled closer, and immediately started pushing the fat had of his cock against Stiles’ entrance, making him moan. He couldn’t decide if it was pain or something else. Frankly, he didn’t care, not when that hot dick just kept pressing and pressing until it popped in and bottomed out in one swift move.

Alan kept stroking his hair and put his other arm around his shoulders, making a barrier between his skin and Derek’s chest. Stiles was grateful, not knowing exactly why, but he was. He didn’t want to think about Derek, all he wanted was to smell the familiar scent of the manager’s detergent on his shirt and to finally relieve himself - no matter how much his brain was fighting it.

Derek didn’t waste time, as soon as he was in, his hips started moving, thrusting into him with the same - too strong, too fast - rhythm they did for the first time. It was good. Stiles himself would have never set the pace so rough before he came to Room 27, but now he had to face how much he liked it. He felt completely powerless as the man behind him pistoned into him, the force of it smashing him hard against Alan’s firm body.

Derek stilled for a split second, adjusting his aim - Stiles thought that he was going to aim for his prostate, but no, not at all - and the next push drove the head of Derek’s cock forward, straight into Stiles’ bladder and the sharp, unexplainable feeling of it had him cry out a high, pathetic whine as his eyes rolled back into his head.

It only took two more shoves against that spot to have his body surrender.

The feeling of the warm piss between his legs spreading through the pad of his diaper was almost enough to reduce him to a sobbing mess. But, with Alan there holding him through the waves of relief washing over him, he managed to keep from breaking down.

Derek was still fucking him relentlessly, his speed only increasing as he could probably feel him letting go. Faintly, Stiles could hear Peter mutter something that sounded like some really elaborate cursing, and then there was the sound of a zipper and the unmistakable noise of someone jerking off hard and fast.

Stiles just concentrated on Alan. The man was still embracing him, his lips brushing the top of his head.

"That's it, sweet. Ride it out," he whispered, and Stiles did exactly that.

It was amazing; he wasn’t even actually aroused - not with his cock still spurting piss - but still, the feeling of someone fucking him from behind, brutal enough to have him wet himself was... liberating. It was a bit like being high. The shame, the pain, the pleasure of Derek occasionally brushing against his prostate... And most of all, that he could feel how much Alan loved seeing him like this. It was almost too much.

Derek was getting near to finishing - if the way his thrusts grew erratic was any indication. Stiles could hear the scrap of a chair against the tiles and a second later Peter was looming by his side, still working on his cock.

"Shit, the smell..." he said in something close to an actual growl. It made Stiles a bit confused, because he didn't think it was all that strong - though the bitter scent of piss was steadily growing more definite.

He shuddered when he felt Derek come into his ass - for the second time that day. It made his own cock twitch. Peter was beating his own dick furiously, the sound of it loud in the small kitchen as he stepped close. He finished right there, his jizz hitting Stiles behind his ear and dripped down his neck.

Alan made an appreciative little hum.

Derek’s cock slid out of his hole, leaving it twitching and empty, but before he could pull away completely the manager grabbed his shoulder.

“Why don’t you do your business too, since you’re already in there?” he asked. It wasn’t an order, the tone wasn’t quite like what he used with Stiles, but Derek still froze with a moan.

“Yes, do it, pet,” Peter hissed.

None of them seemed to care how Stiles’ breath hitched at the suggestion or the way his whole body jerked when Derek - his cock still cradled between Stiles’ ass cheeks started to piss.

There was no way to explain the difference between his own urine soaking into his diaper and the feeling of someone else’s doing the same, but Stiles could tell. Derek’s piss seemed hotter, almost scorching, as it added to the cooling wetness between his legs. As good as he’s been keeping himself together, it was enough to have his eyes fill with tears. His cock was filling rapidly, like having warm pee washing over his crack and his perineum was the most erotic thing in the world.

By the time Derek finished the diaper was sagging around his hips, and Stiles could feel a few a few drops of pee escaping, sliding down the inside of his thigh.

Alan squeezed his shoulder, not seeming to mind that Stiles was ruining his shirt with drool and tears.

“Well, this was a pleasure,” Peter said, reaching out and trailing a finger down Stiles’ neck where his come was slowly going dry.

“Come on, pet. I think it’s time for us to clear out. Alan, thanks for breakfast, and for the… entertainment. I hope we’re still on for the afternoon playdate?”

“Of course,” the manager said simply, stroking Stiles’ hair gently as he kept shivering. “We will be there.”

Stiles listened to the two men leaving, not ready yet to emerge from Alan’s arms.

Everything was silent in the kitchen, until his discomfort grew enough, that he had to shift on his knees, almost slipping on the mess underneath him.

The manager ruffled his hair one last time, before letting go of him.

“Come now, sweet. Time to get you cleaned up.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the following:  
> \- Light somnophilia (Stiles is touched in a sexual manner while still sleeping, but is awake for intercourse)  
> \- Partner sharing on multiple occasions (Derek fucking Stiles twice, Peter fingering Stiles, Peter coming on Stiles' skin)  
> \- Diaper play/associated humiliation (Stiles wearing a diaper - NO infatilism)  
> \- Watersports (Stiles urinating into a diaper, Derek urinating into the same diaper)


	6. Tuesday - part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I've managed to finished this chapter!  
> I'm so sorry guys, for taking this long, I hope you won't have to wait this long for the next one.
> 
> As always, my eternal gratitude goes to Emma who kept me going, and kept asking about this fic, and who was also lovely enough to beta it!
> 
> See the end notes for a list of kinks and warnings! (though this is not particularly kinky...)

Alan didn’t let him come. Stiles was kind of grateful that the man decided to completely ignore his erection, because he had no idea how to feel about it, even though the only thing he wanted was to get off.

The manager cleaned him up in the bathroom as usual - without doing anything funny this time - and then he was made to crawl to the living room.

To his surprise, Alan told him to get on the couch and even gave him a blanket.

“Here,” he said, holding out Stiles’ phone and a piece of folded paper.

It took him a moment to realize that it was probably officer Parrish’s number.

“We are going to have a busy day, so I think you should make any calls you need to.”

Stiles licked his lips, taking the phone carefully.

He had no idea why he felt so… fragile suddenly.

“Thanks,” he said finally. Alan just nodded.

“I have some cleaning up to do in the kitchen, so take your time, sweet,” he told him with a quirk to his mouth.

Oh. Yeah…

Stiles felt himself turn red. Yeah, he kind of leaked a bit of piss everywhere…

His brain shut down that line of thought swiftly, but before he could work himself up, he was already alone in the room.

 

***

 

He called his dad first, after making sure that he should be finished with his appointment by now.

They didn’t talk about anything, really, Stiles asked him about what the doctor said, to which his dad gave some vague but reassuring answers. Then his dad asked him if he was back at school yet, and it was Stiles turn to be vague. Just the usual.

Stiles had no idea how much he needed to hear his father’s voice until he ended the call and it felt like he could breath easier - it was a good thing Alan was taking care of him.

He had to stop for a second to analyze that thought.

Was it?

Really, this wasn’t the time to have an existential crisis, if anything, he should have got that done after his first visit to Room 27, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something big was happening to him.

Did he have some kind of Stockholm syndrome? No, that was stupid. First of all, he was here by his own will and… He looked at the crinkled paper in his hand. He even had an escape route, if anything went wrong.

Even as he put the unfamiliar number into his phone, he couldn’t help feeling absolutely certain that he will never have to use it in that regard. It was dumb, it was downright insane, but the fact that he could get out whenever just made him want to prove himself to Alan more.

Did the man think that he wouldn’t be able to take whatever he had in store for him? Okay. Okay, so it was hard at times, occasionally it seemed absolutely impossible to obey the man but… But no one ever managed to make Stiles feel like this before, even if he had to face some scary shit on the way.

Like… like getting excited by wetting himself or others pissing on him.

He stopped with his finger hovering over the call button. His mouth felt dry.

But. But he did. He did get hard when… His brain was trying hard to distract him, but for once, Stiles didn’t let himself shy away from the truth.

Yeah, he was hot for piss.

Well, fuck.

He let out a long breath and hit call.

Officer Parrish picked up at the fourth ring. He sounded decidedly sleepy.

Oops.

“Hello?” came his voice, and yeah. Stiles woke his dad up enough times on accident to know that tone. That was the ‘I had a late shift, and unless this is important, I will arrest you just because - after I had coffee’ tone…

“Uh… Sorry for waking you, Officer,” Stiles said, trying to sound apologetic. It wasn’t hard, he was pretty familiar how much law enforcement could take out of a person.

“Who is this?” Parrish asked, and Stiles could practically see him throwing an arm over his eyes.

“It’s Stiles… from Alan’s?”

“Oh! Shit, yeah…” he seemed to wake up in an instant, making Stiles feel even worse for disturbing him.

“Everything alright?”

Stiles swallowed. He was pretty sure that ‘I wore a diaper just an hour ago, and the stranger fucking me pissed into it’ wouldn’t go over too well.

“Yup… just wanted to check in. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Night shift?”

He could hear Parrish letting out a relieved breath.

“Yeah, I only got to bed two hours ago.”

Stiles winced.

“Fu… I mean, damn, sorry about that. I will let you get back to it, just wanted to check in,” he said quickly, but was stopped before he could disconnect.

“Hey, no. It’s fine, I have to piss anyway,” he said, and Stiles was incredibly grateful that there was no video feed, because he could feel his whole body flush. Great, just the topic he needed.

“Um… Well, I don’t actually have much to say, unless you… want to hear details?” He had no idea how much Parrish knew about what Alan was doing, but he obviously had a few ideas.

“Yeah, ah… no. No, thank you, no need,” Parris said in a rush, clearing his throat in the awkward silence afterwards, like he was getting embarrassed or possibly panicked.

It was actually such an absurd conversation, that Stiles couldn’t hold back a snort. To his relief, Parrish answered with a slightly hysteric giggle.

“Well, then, Good Officer, I’m afraid I will have to keep this short,” Stiles said, grinning.

“Alright. I wouldn’t want to keep you from… whatever. Doc Deaton. Yeah,” he managed finally. It was kind of cute to hear him be so flustered. “Also, call me Jordan.”

Stiles nodded his head, even though Parrish couldn’t see him.

“Okay, bye then, Jordan.”

“Bye Stiles, and don’t forget to call tomorrow!”

“Roger that,” he said, before ending the call.

Well, that wasn’t so bad.

 

***

 

Alan came in a moment later - Stiles had the impression that the man had been waiting for him to finish, giving him some privacy.

No matter how much better he felt after the calls he made, his stomach still filled with nervous anticipation. It wasn’t exactly a bad feeling, but he was a bit worn by everything that happened in the short time since he woke up. Thankfully, Alan seemed to be on the same wavelength, because he picked up a book before stretching out on the couch.

The man parted his legs and opened his zipper.

“Come on, sweet. We have a bit of time to relax before lunch and our little obligation with Peter,” he said.

Stiles lay down on his side between his legs, pillowing his head on the manager’s stomach and dutifully took his soft cock in his mouth. With the blanket still around him to keep him warm, it was actually quite comfortable.

He didn’t even notice when he closed his eyes, or when he started suckling on Alan’s dick idly.

“Easy now,” the man told him, threading his fingers through Stiles hair. “I’m not that young anymore, and I would rather save my stamina for the afternoon.”

Stiles blushed. It wasn’t even that he intentionally wanted to start something, it just felt natural to run his tongue around the fat head of the man’s cock, and slurp around it from time to time.

Alan didn’t take his hand back. He kept his fingers moving, scratching Stiles’ scalp like he was an overgrown cat. It felt good.

He just kind of dozed for a while, listening to the quiet sounds of Alan turning the pages of his book.

He didn’t even meant to do it.

“Stiles, stop,” Alan said firmly, and he actually had to think for a second to understand what he meant.

His hand was playing with his cock.

Oops. He… was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to do that.

He let go of his dick slowly, glancing up at Alan.

The manager was looking back at him calmly. Stiles got his hand out from under the blanket.

“Good,” the man said, pulling a bit on his hair as he put his book down on the coffee table. “If you want to jerk off, I’m sure we can arrange something, but you can’t just go and do it yourself,” he said.

Stiles swallowed. Yeah, jerking off sounded like a grand idea, but he had a feeling that there would be more to it than he thought.

“Sit back on your heels,” Alan told him. Stiles obeyed, the blanket falling away from him as he got into position at the end of the couch, facing the man.

He parted his knees, feeling himself blush, even though Alan had seen him naked enough times. Except… Except, looking at him now, with a pair of reading glasses on his nose, stretched out on the couch, he seemed… different.

His cock was hard, jutting out between his thighs.

Alan didn’t say anything for a long time, just looked at him, considering.

“Lick your palm, I don’t have anything in here,” he said finally.

Something in Stiles’ stomach lurched, but he obeyed, licking his palm for a few seconds, just trying to get it wet, but before he could pull it away from his mouth, the manager stopped him.

“No, no. I don’t think that will be enough. Make sure it’s as slippery as you can get it.”

Stiles couldn’t even look at him as he started again, trying to coat his palm in saliva. It was… embarrassing. It was strange, after what happened today, he didn’t think he could get flustered by something as simple as licking his own hand, but like this, putting on a show, it felt somehow intimate.

By the time Alan was satisfied with his work, his skin was practically dripping, and he was so hard that it hurt.

“Very good. Now, I will let you jerk off, but you will do it exactly as I say. Is that understood?” Alan asked, taking his glasses off and putting them on top of the discarded book.

Stiles shivered. The weight of that gaze, that intent focus was multiplied now that there was nothing between them. He nodded, biting his lip.

“Excellent. First, you will take your cock in hand and you will not do anything, just hold it,” he said.

Stiles’ hand was shaking a bit as he closed it around his erection. It was amazing to finally, finally feel something on his dick, though his muscles trembled with the need to move.

“Don’t touch the head. That’s it.”

It felt like hours with Alan just watching him. He had to close his eyes to concentrate on staying still - and maybe a bit to escape those dark, knowing eyes.

“Alright, sweet. Now I want you to squeeze down. No moving, just squeeze the shaft.”

Stiles’ fingers obeyed on their own accord, clenching down hard around his dick. His eyes snapped open on a moan and he watched with distracted fascination as a drop of precome was literally squeezed out of his slit. It kind of hurt, but not too bad.

“That’s it. Keep squeezing, I will tell you when you can relax,” Alan told him.

The head of his cock was almost purple by the time the manager took mercy on him.

“Good, relax, just hold it.”

Stiles didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until the air rushed out of his lungs when his hand finally unclenched. His heart was beating so fast that it seemed almost unnatural.

“Now, I want you to relax your fingers until they are barely touching the skin,” Alan waited until he obeyed. Even his palm felt weirdly sensitive… “Good. Now I want you to start moving it, keep your hand lax.”

Stiles licked his lips. It felt… he didn’t even know. He just wanted to come but the teasing, barely there connection just made him more desperate.

“Slower,” Alan told him.

He was panting hard, trying to keep the sluggish movement going without clenching down around his cock. It was so fucking difficult. His other hand was balled into a fist, resting on his thigh.

“Excellent. Stop and squeeze down. Harder, sweet.”

 

***

 

Stiles was going to die. There was sweat dripping down his spine and his thighs were trembling with the strain of keeping still.

Alan told him to stop.

They've been alternating between the slow teasing and fast, tight fisted jerking for a while now, stopping whenever Stiles came even remotely close.

His cock hurt. Even his hand was sore, growing tired from jerking so much. Fuck.

"That's alright, sweet. I need you to let your cock go completely."

Stiles blinked, feeling dazed and stupid as he obeyed. His fingers had a hard time unclenching from around his shaft. He didn’t even notice that Alan moved closer until the manager took hold of his hand, starting to massage it gently.

"You are doing very well," he said, not looking up from what he was doing. "We will play a bit more and then I will let you come."

Stiles whined. Just the thought of finally finishing had him gulp down air like he was suffocating.

When the man finished working over his hand, he turned it palm up and spit into it, making Stiles shiver.

“That should be enough. I need you to start stroking,” he said.

Stiles held back a moan with sheer force of will. He had to hiss as he took his cock in his hand again - even with the added spit he was so, so sore. He was near crying as he started moving again, jerking his cock slowly. He didn’t want to go fast, he didn’t want to do anything, really, he just wanted to come.

“Faster, sweet,” the manager ordered, and he did it, speeding up until his hand was just a blur. Shit, it was too much… How long have they been doing this? It felt like fucking hours.

He could feel that hot, tight sensation gathering just under his navel when he was told to stop again. He clenched his teeth together, feeling a few tears escape from under his tightly shut eyelids. He didn’t think he was ever this desperate to come, not even in the cockcage. Then at least he knew that he couldn’t, now the only thing separating him from release was Alan’s will.

“Squeeze down, that’s it, harder. Just a bit more, sweet, make it hurt.”

It did. He was gripping his cock so tight that his vision grew blurry. It just made him want to come even harder; the pain was doing nothing to dampen his arousal, it only fed it more.

“Good, start again,” Alan said, sounding detached. Fuck.

Stiles bit his lip as he did. He could taste a bit of blood, though it wasn’t surprising, he had chewed his mouth raw.

He started jerking again, going as fast as he knew Alan wanted it. Shit, shit he was so close, just a bit more… just a tiny bit.

“Stop.”

And.

No

He couldn’t… he couldn’t possibly…

“N-no,” he didn’t even realize that he said it out loud, but as soon as those two letters left his mouth, his eyes snapped open, staring at the man as his hand just kept going. His eyes were so blurry that he couldn’t even see the expression on his face, but it didn’t even matter, because finally, finally, he was coming.

 

***

 

The relief of his orgasm was short lived. As soon as the first wave crashed over him, there was a heavy cold weight in his stomach.

Shit. Shit, what the fuck did he just do.

He raised his eyes slowly, looking at Alan with trepidation.

The disappointment in the manager’s gaze was crushing.

Stiles didn’t understand what was happening. He just couldn’t… breath. As cliche as it was, everything happened in a blur; one moment he was sitting there, gasping and unable to fill his lungs with air, and the next he was cradled against Alan’s chest, trying to make sense of the voice he was hearing.

“Stiles, sweet, you are having a panic attack,” he said. Stiles was pretty sure he had to repeat it a few times before his brain finally caught on.

Oh.

That explained the itchy, numb feeling in his fingertips. Shit.

Alan put his palm flat between his shoulderblades. It felt warm and firm against his suddenly clammy skin.

“I need you to try to breathe with me, Stiles,” he said, pushing down with his hand on his back, and Stiles tried to match his breathing to it, desperate to make things right. It was slow going, but after a lot of unsuccessful attempts, he managed to constrict his lungs whenever Alan pushed, forcing the air out of his lungs, and then sucking in oxygen when he let up.

He didn’t know how much time passed, his eyes were closed, half lying in the man’s lap as he worked to simply breathe.

“That’s it, sweet, just like that. You’re almost there,” Alan murmured. Stiles could feel the manager shifting and a moment later the blanket was back, pulled tight over the both of them. The warmth was good, it was almost nice enough to make him forget what happened. What he did.

Almost.

“I…” he had to concentrate to get the next breath in, struggling to talk. “I’m s-sorry,” he managed finally, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough. He couldn’t help thinking that Alan will send him away, tell him that he wasn’t worth his time and throw him out. Just the thought of it was like missing the last step on the stairs, it set his stomach churning and his heart to beat out a fast, frightened rhythm.

“I know,” Alan said with a sigh.

Stiles wanted to look at him, to see his face so he could tell what he was thinking, but the manager’s arms tightened around him.

“No moving, Stiles. Just try to relax. Nothing bad is happening, you just breath for me, hm?”

That couldn’t have been true, but for now, it was enough and he did as he was told, slowly melting into Alan’s chest and letting the warmth of their combined body heat ease the trembling in his muscles.

 

***

 

He probably slept. He was always absolutely exhausted by panic attacks. When he woke up they were in the same position with Alan’s hand slowly rubbing up and down his spine.

“Awake?” Alan asked. His voice didn’t sound as closed off as usual.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He had to clear his throat, it was hard to speak. He should have been ashamed of himself for burrowing closer, hiding his face in the man’s shirt, but he kind of needed to feel that closeness.

“A-are you going to… to send me away?” he asked, so quiet that for a second he thought Alan couldn’t have heard him, but he was wrong.

“Why? Because you messed up?” the manager asked, voice light, but not joking. “No, sweet. This is a long and difficult journey for you, I’m well aware of that. You might not know just yet where it takes you, but it would be silly to assume that you won’t occasionally stumble,” he said, sounding absolutely… confident. Stiles liked that. He liked knowing that even when he was freaking out or fucking up completely, Alan knew what was going on.

He licked his lips, feeling cozy enough to risk asking more.

“So… who are you in this ‘journey’?” It was the closest he ever got to questioning whatever they were doing. Questioning what it was.

Alan’s hand didn’t pause on his back, but it did push down a touch more firmly against his spine.

“Well. For now, I would say I’m your guide. And that means, that whenever you fall on the road, it’s just as much my fault as it’s yours for not paying attention where you’re going.”

Stiles couldn’t help shifting. That wasn't right. He didn’t feel like that was true… The man must have felt the way he tensed up.

“Shh, it’s fine. It’s completely natural. It doesn’t mean that either of us is doing a bad job. And it also doesn’t mean that you can get away with disobedience,” Alan told him. How could he sound so calm? It always blew Stiles mind. He shivered, brain already going a mile a minute. He felt like a failure.

“This is what we are going to do: we are going to rest up, and have a nice lunch. Then we will go and play with Peter and Derek-”

“But, what about-” Alan didn’t let him finish.

“Hush. We will take care of your punishment tomorrow. I don’t want you to think you are getting punished for having a panic attack, and I think you need a bit of time to get that into that bright little head of yours,” the man told him.

Oh. Oh, okay.

They could do that.

“But first, you need to drink up,” Alan said, picking up a bottle of water from the coffee table. He screwed the cap off before holding it to Stiles’ lips, so he wouldn’t have to move.

Stiles drank, eyes already drooping again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks and Warnings:  
> \- orgasm control  
> \- jerking off  
> \- somewhat graphic description of a panic attack


	7. Tuesday - part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies!
> 
> Okay, first of all. This fic has reached 500 kudos! I would like to thank every single one of you for being so awesome! I never thought that a fic with such a varied (and sometimes extreme ) list of kinks and with a pairing so rare could get this far...
> 
> As those who follow me on tumblr know, this chapter is brought to you so fast by my brain that tries to distract me from my looming exams in a week LOL
> 
> Also, as always, eternal thanks to my lovely beta, Emma, who is always around when I need her!
> 
> (a detailed list of kinks and warnings can be found in the end notes!)

It was already around four when they made it over to Peter’s room.

Alan let him have a coat and a pair of sneakers because the air was chilly, but he had to get naked as soon as they were through the door.

“Kneel,” Alan told him. Stiles did, looking around. It wasn’t much different from room 27, except for the bed; it didn’t have a metal frame, actually, it didn’t even have a headboard.

Peter was sitting in a chair with Derek crouched in front of him, licking his bare feet. The man seemed annoyed, even though his nephew was obviously very enthusiastic about what he was doing.

“Alan,” he said, not even looking up from the young man in front of him.

“Still having a bad day?” the manager asked. Stiles remembered Peter telling them in the morning that Derek was ‘grumpy’… The knowledge kind of made him uncomfortable; he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to be present when he was feeling off.

Alan patted his hair, somehow knowing that he needed the comfort of the brief connection.

“He has been absolutely useless so far,” Peter said, pulling his leg away from Derek. “Seriously, pet, I can’t even look at you. Get out of my sight,” he added. Stiles averted his eyes, aware that Derek slunk off on all fours towards the bathroom.

Peter sighed, standing and walking up to them. Stiles kept his eyes on the floor for some reason, until the man’s spit wet feet came into his line of vision. Peter lifted his face with a finger under his chin.

“I bet you are a good boy, aren’t you? Not a sulky, sullen child like certain people,” he said, running his thumb over Stiles’ lower lip. He couldn’t help shivering. He had a feeling that he would be put to the test soon.

After what happened with his panic attack and stuff, he wasn’t too confident, but the fact that Alan thought he was well enough for the playdate gave him a bit of faith.

“He is,” the manager said calmly, sending a little, warm tingle down his spine.

“Well, then I’m sure he wouldn’t mind putting that lovely little mouth to good use?” Peter asked, though it didn’t really sound like a question.

To Stiles surprise, Alan actually crouched down beside him, taking his ring gag out of his pocket. He opened up obediently as it was buckled around his head, the stretch of it between his teeth actually comforting.

“Peter likes doing things rough,” Alan told him, not even trying to keep his voice down. “I know you have enough practice to take it, but I will be here making sure. Hands behind your back, sweet.”

Stiles nodded his head in acknowledgement as he clasped his wrists behind himself, turning back to Peter who was already opening his zipper.

“I wouldn’t say I like it rough…” he said with a grin. “Though it’s true that I enjoy a good facefucking.”

Stiles swallowed, feeling his mouth flooding with saliva. He couldn’t help imagining it. Usually, Alan was careful whenever he had to suck him off - careful, but relentless - and he had to admit to wanting to try out something a little more… forceful.

It was a bit like when he had been fucked by Raf. He loved how calm and precise Alan was with him, but the thrill was still there when it was someone else, someone he didn’t know what to expect from.

Peter had a nice, big cock - about the size of Derek’s- and that meant that it would be the biggest thing Stiles ever had to suck off. It had a slight, upwards curve and a disproportionately large head.

Stiles own cock twitched at the sight.

Peter hummed under his breath and then pushed it into his mouth. Stiles expected him to tease a bit first, but the man didn’t play around and forced it in far enough to make him gag - and then just kept going.

Stiles’ eyes immediately filled with tears when his oxygen was cut off, he wasn’t used to deep throating so suddenly. Thankfully, Peter didn’t still inside him, but pulled back immediately, stopping when Stiles could breath again.

“Like that, boy? I’m not going to go easy on you. I’ve been on edge all day, and I won’t pass up on a chance to relieve some stress,” he said, and just like that, he was fucking Stiles mouth with an easy rhythm.

Well, it must have looked easy, but it wasn’t.

For the first time, Stiles had to realize how much Alan worked to make giving head enjoyable for the both of them. Peter didn’t try matching his thrusts to his breathing, he didn’t care to pull out far enough for him to suck in a much needed breath - sometimes he happened to do it, other times he didn’t - he didn’t watch his strength, or stop when Stiles gagged, just hammered on without a care in the world.

It was amazing.

Just when Stiles thought that he was getting the hang of it, Peter stopped, cupping his face in both his hands.

“This is nice and all, but I think it’s time we really got going, hm?” he said, grinning down at him. Stiles swallowed around his thick length, throat already burning from the use. He blinked up at Peter with blurry eyes. What?

The man shifted his fingers, hooking them behind Stiles’ ears and then pulled him all the way down to his cock. Stiles didn’t choke - he was pretty sure he was over that for the night - but his vision started to grow gray fast. He didn’t have time to breath - Peter didn’t give him any.

“Watch your strength,” Alan’s voice said from somewhere to the side. Just the sound of it was enough to make Stiles’ heart rate return to almost normal. “He’s only human.”

Stiles couldn’t see Peter from this position, but he was pretty sure he rolled his eyes.

“I won’t kill him, don’t worry,” he said, and then pulled Stiles’ head back by the ears. He barely had enough time to suck in half a breath, and then he was yanked forward again, fast and brutal. The fat head of Peter’s cock jammed into his throat, stretching him painfully.

Stiles gagged, choking on his own saliva as the man did it again, forcing him down and back, down and back - fast and merciless. His fingers spasmed behind his back, but he managed to fight the instinct to push Peter away. He wanted this.

He couldn’t get a full breath in and his lungs started burning almost immediately.

He was dimly aware that snot was running from his nose, adding to the the frothy saliva around his mouth. He didn’t know if Peter was actually doing it intentionally, or it was just the way he liked it, but he managed to keep Stiles on that perilous edge of blacking out. His vision was constantly gray around the edge, blood thudding heavily in his ears until it was the only thing he could hear, and still, he kept going.

It hurt. It felt like his throat was raw and chaffing with every push of Peter’s cock sliding deep. Stiles wanted to throw up, wanted it to end, wanted it to… keep going as long as he could take it. As long as they wanted him to take it.

But, the euphoria of it didn’t last forever.

A large, dark shape appeared by Stiles’ right, making him flinch unconsciously, and that second of distraction was enough to make him miss one of his rare chances to breath when Peter pulled back.

The dog - his sluggish mind provided, but it was already too late and he was choking, eyes rolling up into his head. He couldn’t stop his hands flying forward and pushing at the denim clad thighs in front of him.

He wasn’t delusional enough to think that his desperate flailing was what got him free, but a second later Peter disappeared from in front of him, his place take up by Alan kneeling beside him.

He had to lean on the manager to stop from falling over. He had never been so grateful for smelling the detergent on the man’s shirt, it smelled like… safety.

“That’s okay, sweet. You are doing wonderfully, just breathe through it.”

Stiles wasn’t sure he would be able to do it. His stomach was churning, gag reflex triggered one too many times. His whole body was shaking with the force of his heaving.

Alan put a hand on his chest, just over his breastbone, and rubbed, easing some of his discomfort.

His tongue was hanging out of his mouth, heavy and numb. There was thick, precome mixed saliva clinging to it. It was disgusting. It should have been. He didn’t know.

Right when he thought that he was over it, that fucking dog stepped right up to him and started licking at his chin. The feeling of the animal actually lapping at his mouth made him gag again, he tried to push it away, but he was way too big.

Alan kept murmuring to him, and held his hands down.

“It’s okay, sweet, let him do it,” he said. Stiles was crying, trying to turn his face away, but he was relentless.

He almost threw up when the dog licked right into his mouth through the ring of his gag, his long, agile tongue brushing Stiles’ palate.

“Swallow, Stiles, swallow,” Alan said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. It wasn’t. The dog just kept doing it, cleaning his face, licking up his master’s mess with quick, small swipes of his tongue.

It took a long time for Stiles to finally regain control of his stomach, and by then he was in a daze. The dog was still there, the way it kept… kissing him making him dizzy with things he didn’t want to analyze.

Alan brushed his lips over his temple before standing, and Peter stepped right back to him.

Stiles looked up at the man numbly. Peter was jerking his cock - hard and fast - eyes glued to his dog bathing Stiles’ face.

He gave Stiles a sly smile.

“Let’s give the pup a treat, hm?” he said as he stepped closer.

Stiles was afraid that he would start fucking his face again - he was more than sure that it would end in him throwing up all over those expensive looking jeans, but Peter just held his thick cock to his mouth, hand moving over it rapidly.

He probably wanted to come in his mouth and let the dog lick it out - or at least that’s what Stiles thought, but how wrong he was.

As he got closer and closer to finishing, Peter hooked the thumb of his free hand behind the ring of Stiles’ gag, tugging on it, until the head of his cock was right there, resting on his tongue.

He didn’t give Stiles any warning.

When Peter came, he jammed his dick into his mouth, pushing in deep and aiming upwards. Stiles didn’t understand what was happening, he was too busy choking from the sudden intrusion, and just like that, Peter’s come was filling his airway, sputtering out of his nose with the force of his coughing.

It hurt, the inside of his nose was on fire.

Peter pulled back as soon as he finished, looking on in glee as the dog jumped at his chance right away, starting to lick the come trickling from Stiles’ nose.

He wanted to jerk away, but Alan was behind him, and instead of helping, he just reached around Stiles and pushed the tip of his nose up. The dog… That fucking dog licked into his nose.

He was crying hard, unable to chase the image from his head; of himself, kneeling there with come leaking from his nose, sliding into his mouth - open obscenely wide around his gag - with a dog lapping up the whole thing.

He knew that he should be disgusted, that he should try to… do something. His hands were fisted in the animal’s thick fur, but no matter how hard his brain was screaming, they just clung on uselessly instead of pushing him away.

He felt his cock twitch, and it just sent him sobbing harder.

 

***

 

They put him on the bed when it was over. Alan was sitting beside him, petting his hair while Peter tied his wrists to his ankles on both sides. He was still crying a little, the humiliation not going anywhere, flaring up bright whenever he thought about what happened.

He was so fucking hard.

Alan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped the remaining mess from his face.

“You did good, sweet. You should have seen how amazing you looked,” he said, and the reminder was enough to make Stiles stomach flip and squirm with emotion. He felt so… degraded. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this; maybe the first time he came here… when Raf… He didn’t want to think about it. It was hard to acknowledge how much he enjoyed it.

“All set,” Peter said, sitting down. Stiles tried moving, but other than opening or closing his legs, there wasn’t much he could do with his hands and feet bound together.

“Good,” Alan said, and then the two men dragged his body down the bed until his ass was almost in the air at the feet of the mattress.

“Stiles.”

Just the sound of his name was enough to get his attention. No matter how muddled his brain was, he would always listen to Alan’s voice when it was like that. Firm.

“I know that this will be scary, but I also know that you are going to enjoy it,” he said. He seemed sure. Stiles had no idea what he was planning, but he already knew that it wouldn’t be easy.

“All you have to do is relax and let it happen. It’s perfectly safe, and I’m staying right here,” Alan told him, taking hold of his knee and pulling it away from his body. Peter on his other side did the same until Stiles’ thighs were parted as far as they could go.

“Come on, pup,” Peter said, “Let’s show our guest a good time.”

Stiles whined through his gag as he watched the huge dog approach the bed. No. No-no-no. He was making sounds, though he had no idea what he would have said if he was able to talk. The dog stopped between his legs and pushed his cold nose between Stiles’ ass cheeks, making him jerk with surprise and shock.

“Easy, sweet. He just wants to take care of you,” Alan said as the dog started licking him right there.

Stiles was throwing his head from side to side, tears starting up again in earnest.

He couldn’t. He didn’t… His brain was struggling to process what was happening. The dog kept licking. His long, flat tongue covered his whole crack in saliva, making him shiver. It was. It wasn’t a bad feeling. Except for the part where a dog was licking him down there.

His cock was so hard it hurt.

He tried to squirm away, but the men beside him kept him down firmly until his body gave up and he just lay there, eyes shut tightly.

“That’s it, sweet, just let him do it.”

“He’s taking it well,” Peter said, squeezing his knee just a tad too hard. “I have a feeling we are witnessing a true zoophile in the making.”

Stiles moaned, high and desperate, but he had no way to protest. He didn’t know if it would be worth anything even if the could - not with his cock twitching against his stomach like that.

But, the pleasure didn’t dampen the way his brain tried to convince him of how utterly wrong and disgusting this was.

The dog didn’t care about his inner struggles, it just kept working on him, like rimming was his favorite trick in the world. Stiles jumped as he felt someone squeezing his ass, his eyes snapping open. It was Alan, his free hand parting Stiles’ cheeks. Peter caught up to the program soon, and did the same, letting the dog reach his hole.

The first brush of that tongue directly against his sensitive entrance had him crying out. The sheer wrongness of it making him almost delirious. He couldn’t believe that this was happening, but more importantly, nobody cared about what he thought, he was just made to take it. His cock jerked, spurting out a few droplets of precome.

The dog was working with a single minded focus, his raspy tongue bathing him in slobber.

“We better start prepping him,” Peter told Alan, like he wasn’t even there between them, and as soon as the words were out his mouth, Stiles could feel one of the man’s fingers pushing into his hole.

Alan hummed and a second later he added one too.

Stiles choked a bit on his own saliva at the feeling of them fucking into him, the fact that they didn’t bother with matching each other just making the experience somehow more surreal.

It kind of drove him out of his mind. Soon enough, both men had two fingers in him, and when they were satisfied with the way his hole slowly relaxed to their ministrations, they started pulling at his hole, spreading it apart.

Stiles’ back arched off the bed. He was shaking so hard that he was scared of actually falling apart, but it only got worse when he felt the dog jumping at the chance and actually licking into him.

He was crying, though he didn’t even know why. It felt weird. Yeah, he got a rimjob a few times in his life but… the dog’s tongue was long, reaching deeper inside him than any human could have, brushing against his sensitive walls like he was a delicious treat just for him.

Just when he was on the edge of being completely overwhelmed, everything stopped. Peter stood, taking the dog to the side, leaving him alone with Alan, the manager fingering him leisurely.

Stiles looked at him, eyes blurry and feeling a little… lost. He should have been relieved that it was finally over, but he was still so hard, and it had been… he didn’t know. There was something in him, that kept building and building - some kind of pressure - and it just. Stoped. It didn’t ease though, it was still there, quivering under his skin, just on this side of too much, but not enough.

Alan smiled, and it was the testament of how out of it he was, that Stiles couldn’t help thinking that he must be a Sphinx. Maybe it was the eyes, looking down at him with warmth, but also like they knew things, things he couldn’t even imagine.

As he watched, the man opened a small pack of lube - with his teeth - and added it to the dog slobber slicking up his hole. Stiles shivered from the cold, but it warmed up nicely with Alan’s fingers working it into him. The man added a third finger and started stretching him, torturously slow.

“Almost there, sweet. Just a bit more and you will be good to go,” he said. Stiles didn’t know what he was talking about, swallowed up by the burn of the stretch as his muscles tried to adjust to the intrusion.

It felt good.

He wondered for a second if Alan would fist him again… He couldn’t even remember how much he jerked off in the last two months to the memory of that night.

His brain was too sluggish to catch on, even when Peter sat back beside him with the dog whining and shifting impatiently at his feet.

“Ready?” the man asked, and after a last twist of his wrist, Alan nodded.

The manager pulled his fingers out, tearing a moan from Stiles, but his hand was quick to settle on his chest, grounding him.

“Stiles, sweet, I need you to be good for me,” he said.

Stiles blinked up at him. He wasn’t sure he even knew how not to be.

Alan rubbed his chest in slow circles and nodded at Peter. The man grinned, teeth looking very white and a bit too sharp in the lamp light.

“Come on, pup. Mount!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks and warnings in this chapter:  
> \- partner sharing (Stiles gives a blow job to Peter, later he gets a rimjob from the 'dog')  
> \- humiliation (Peter intentionally comes in Stiles mouth in such a way that it comes out of his nose and the 'dog' licks it off)  
> \- bestiality (Stiles has his face and his ass licked by the 'dog' with allusions to penetrative sex with the 'dog' in the very near future)
> 
> I can't remember anything else, but feel free to tell me if I forgot something!


	8. Tuesday - part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for being so lovely and patient, all of you! It means a lot to me that there are people here so dedicated to this story.  
> For some reason this chapter was incredibly hard to write, it almost made me piss blood, seriously.
> 
> That being said, some thanks are in order.
> 
> First of all, many, many thanks to my lovely beta Emma who keeps me going even on the hard days and puts up with my worrying and fussing and generally irritating phases. You rock, hon, you rock.
> 
> And second, an unbelievably huge thank you to Jennifer S, who provided me with some much needed incentive to finally get my head out of the gutter and finish this damned chapter. She has been incredibly kind to me and I can't thank her generosity enough. <3

When the dog jumped up the air was pushed out of Stiles in a rush. He didn’t understand what was happening for a moment, but then the pointy, slick cock of the animal poked him in the ass and it kicked his brain straight into near-panic.

He wheezed, eyes snapping to Alan, and it was enough to set the man in motion. The manager still kept a firm hand on his knee, making him unable to even try to close it, but he leaned over cupping Stiles’ head with his palm.

“Shh, sweet, it’s okay. Look at me,” he said, and Stiles did, unable to do anything else, really.

“Everything is fine. All you have to do is let him in, can you do that for me? Just that?”

That. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do that. His mind boggled at the thought. It was too hard. It was… it was a fucking dog.

He didn’t have much time to think about it though, because Peter was reaching under the dog and guiding his cock to Stiles’ entrance until it was jabbing at his hole with enough force to make him whine.

His body was tensed up, unable to let go, to relax or even move. It felt like he was at a standstill that could only end in disaster, but Alan didn’t let that happen.

“Stiles, you’re okay. There’s nothing to be scared of - all that’s going to happen is that you’re going to get fucked, just like you should be. Don’t you want that, sweet? A good hard fucking to make you come?” Alan asked. He didn’t sound impatient or annoyed. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Stiles wasn’t sure. He just. He didn’t know. He was hard, and his cock didn’t seem to get any softer, but the heady cocktail of excitement and almost morbid need just wasn’t strong enough to conquer his rational thoughts.

The manager closed the last few inches between them, and kissed his forehead. Nothing more than a hot press of lips against skin with the background music of a needy animal’s whining, but it was enough to crack some of the tension in Stiles.

“Trust me, sweet. As soon as he’s in, you will be experiencing something out of this world.”

Stiles gave a broken little sob, but the thing was; he did. He did trust Alan. He trusted him with more than he could even admit.

So he did as he was asked and with a conscious effort managed to relax his hole enough for the dog to slide inside on the next impatient nudge.

Alan was… Alan was right.

The dog didn’t wait for anything or anyone. As soon as he was good to go, his hips immediately started jackrabbiting, like a machine that had no concern for the pleasure of others.

It was rough. Too rough. Almost violent. The powerful thrusts were jarring his whole body. Maybe he could have taken it at a slower pace, but the dog was uncaring of what he thought he could take and hammered into him so fast, that the relentless, unforgiving push-pull of his cock melded into a single, unending sensation of friction. It was hard to… to comprehend it. Overwhelming.

Stiles couldn’t do anything other than stare at the ceiling with wide eyes, trying to make sense of the sensations warring in his body.

As silly as it was - because of course - but it was simply animalistic. For the first time in his life, Stiles understood what it felt like to be… simpler. A lifeform that wasn’t caught up in a constant intricate trap of morals and societal conventions, that only cared about eating and sleeping and… fucking.

The dog cock was thick and slick - maybe Peter lubed him up, he didn’t know - but it was hard and hot. Hotter than a human’s and it just drove home the knowledge of what he was doing. His brain was hysterically grasping at long forgotten sheep-fucker jokes, but failed to find the humor in them as his insides were stirred up by that huge, hard dog dick.

He knew - rationally - that the dog wasn’t exactly ‘aiming’ at anything, but he still managed to nail his prostate a few times, sending shockwaves of pleasure up Stiles’ spine until he felt like his mind was fried.

There was saliva dripping onto his neck.

He didn’t dare to look, but he could hear the animal panting above him, mouth open and drooling.

His cock twitched when another drop of slobber landed on the thin skin stretching over his collar bone.

Alan’s fingers scratched his scalp, pulling his mind away from all of it for a second.

“You may come if you can, sweet,” he said. His eyes were smiling, not mean, but… proud. Stiles didn’t understand what was there to be proud about. He wasn’t doing anything - in fact, he was nothing more than a sextoy for a fucking dog. Still, the permission somehow managed to let the last threads of tension leave his body, and just like that, Stiles was gone.

It wasn’t the first time it happened; Alan taking him out of his head and setting him… free. But it was never like this; in front of an attentive, keen eyed audience. But Stiles was over caring about that.

It was like something that clogged his throat was removed. He couldn’t stop making sounds; desperate, high pitched moans of pleasure, deep, gargled groans of near pain on the harder thrust that felt like they reached his very core.

Even through all that, he could feel how the mood shifted. As soon as he - finally, finally - let himself go everything became somehow more blurry and sharp at the same time. His body was almost an afterthought, a vessel of an animal’s pleasure, but his consciousness opened up, taking in everything. The way Peter’s nostrils flared, the twitch of his cock in his jeans, Alan’s smell growing more intense as a thin sheen of sweat broke out across his gorgeous, dark skin… The way the dog - like it was replying to his own noises - started to growl, low but not threatening.

He took it all in. Stiles let himself be swept up in everything and carried as far as possible. He was acutely aware of the way the dog’s claws dug into his thighs, almost, but not quite breaking the skin. The extra smart of pain only adding to his pleasure.

And it just kept building.

Stiles… didn’t actually know what triggered his orgasm. It took him completely by surprise. Sure, he felt it as the thick, rough fur on the dog’s stomach rubbed against him, teasing but constant. He still felt those little zaps of electricity whenever the animal’s cock brushed against his insides just the right way… But he had no idea what pushed him over the edge.

He didn’t want to think that it was the way Alan started massaging his scalp, fingers catching on sweaty strands of hair.

When he came, it washed right over him, clogging up his nerve endings, turning every single sensation into another bolt of pleasure until it was almost too much.

His cock jerked, squirting out thick globs of come, only for it to be smeared immediately by the dog. He didn’t even pause in the frantic thrusting, just gave a little whine at the sudden tightening of Stiles’ hole and hammered on, movements tinged with an edge of desperation - chasing his own pleasure.

For a few long, slowly thudding seconds the onslaught just raked his orgasm higher and higher, but it seemed unavoidable for reality to come crashing back. When it did, Stiles was left there sobbing, over-sensitive and desperate for everything to just fucking stop.

He had never been more grateful to have Alan there to pick up the pieces.

“Shh, it’s fine, sweet, you are doing beautifully,” he said, so quiet that it was a wonder Stiles even managed to pick up the words.

Too much.

The dog didn’t give a fuck, it just kept going, grinding and stabbing into him long after he was over the peak of his orgasm. Stiles tried to… say something, but it got mangled and lost through his gag. He caught Alan’s eyes, and knew that the man understood exactly what was happening. But he didn’t do anything to stop it.

“That’s okay, Stiles, that’s okay. You have to bear with it. You have to be good and let him have his fun,” the manager said, voice low and reasonable. It was almost hypnotic. The man’s hand slid down on the inside of his thigh, making goosebumps blossom on his skin.

Stiles whined, eyes falling shut.

Something was happening.

At first, he didn’t know what, too caught up in the almost-pain of being fucked over the point of pleasure, but then Peter moaned, squeezing down on his knee and hissing out a Yes!

His hole was burning from all the constant friction - having to open up again and again for that thick dick - but even with the numbness of oversensitivity, he couldn’t help noticing when…

Shit.

His eyes snapped open again, staring into the air as his mind jumped around, grasping at random facts until it managed to latch onto the one he needed.

Knotting. Knotting was a thing. With dogs.

Stiles wanted to jerk away, there was no denying what he was feeling now - the way the dog’s cock grew fatter at the base, stretching his entrance on every push, tugging on his rim whenever he pulled out.

He wanted to scream, his lungs were burning for it, but instead his body let out a long, soft moan, cock twitching on his stomach in a pathetic attempt to get hard again.

Alan smiled, his fingers tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to hurt. To make him feel good.

“Fuck, he’s going to get it real hard,” Peter croaked before the manager could open his mouth, voice hungry.

The dog’s low growling started to steadily grow louder. It still didn’t sound dangerous, almost like purring, reverberating through Stiles’ chest until it felt like his own.

It was growing. The knot wasn’t too big yet, but it became harder and harder for the animal to force it in and out of his hole, though his powerful hips still had enough leverage to pop it through the used ring of muscle.

Stiles couldn’t stop moaning. Every time it passed his hole, it felt a bit like getting punched, just more… visceral. Like getting invaded by a force he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t… He wasn’t sure he wanted to stop.

His cock was half hard, leaking, but unable to fill out any more, just laying there, sensitive and limp as the dog’s wet fur rubbed against it.

It was painful. It was good. This couldn’t have been normal.

A gasping moan was forced out of Stiles with every thrust as the knot grew thicker, until the dog had to pause and shift to get it into him. It made his eyes water and lose focus and had his heart skip a beat.

He had no idea how much time passed. Peter started to talk, but not to him. He kept murmuring encouragements to the dog.

“That’s it pup. Give your knot to him, god knows it’s been ages since you had such a sweet little bitch…”

Stiles whined. It was getting to be too much. He didn’t know…

Yeah, he had Alan’s fist in him, but that took a lot of preparation, and now he was already feeling like he was getting split in half.

Just when he thought he couldn’t be take it anymore, the dog stilled. It still tried to fuck him, hips stuttering furiously, but it couldn't pull out anymore. Stiles’ chest heaved. For the first time, he tried to look down on his body, only to come face to face with the dog.

The animal looked right back at him - eyes impossibly blue - before it darted forward and started licking at him, bathing Stiles’ face with his tongue.

He didn’t understand why, but even though he was disgusted by it before, he didn’t mind the licking now. His mind switched gears at one point and he wanted… he wanted to be good. Alan said that he should be good. For the dog…

The animal licked into his mouth - almost carefully at first, like he wanted to gauge Stiles reaction - and when he just closed his eyes and let it happen the dog grew bolder too.

His long, dripping tongue dipped inside, lapping at the back of his teeth, his palate, anywhere it could reach and it was… It was strangely erotic. He was kissing a dog.

Stiles moaned. It was amazing. He wanted it.

His hole felt like it was being split apart by the knot, but the pain was welcome, washing over him with as much force as his orgasm had. He let it.

Stiles moaned, trying to move his own tongue to lick back, even though it still felt a bit numb from the hard fucking Peter gave his face. That was okay. That was the reason he was here: to be used by anyone, no matter if human or animal.

“That’s it, sweet, you are doing wonderfully,” Alan told him again. His voice was low and careful, like he didn’t want to break whatever mood took hold of Stiles, but his words were still welcome. It calmed that last little part of him that struggled with what was happening.

Alan said he was doing good. Everything was okay.

His cock was hard again. He had no idea if it was because the knot finally stopped growing, or not. It didn’t really matter.

The dog shifted on his feet and then stilled completely, dropping his large head on Stiles shoulder and just resting there, whining softly from time-to-time.

“Good boy, good pup,” Peter said, sounding proud as he petted the thick fur at the animal’s neck. “Get that bitch full of your thick puppy juice.”

Stiles closed his eyes. Now that everything was still he could actually feel it if he concentrated hard enough; something was splashing into him. It wasn’t too much, but just the thought of actually being able to feel it was enough to make his cock twitch a little bit harder.

Alan scratched the dog behind his ear.

“Turn around,” he said softly and for a second Stiles though he was talking to him, but then the animal whined, looking at Peter.

“Do it, pup, let’s see what we have here,” the man ordered, and just like that, the dog was getting up, tugging on Stiles hole hard enough to make him cry out.

For a second he was scared of actually getting hurt, but Peter managed to maneuver his pet off and around until the dog was standing on the floor with his ass to Stiles.

The air was surprisingly cold on his sweaty, overheated body now that he wasn’t covered in fur and he couldn’t stop shivering.

The animal shifted, jarring the large knot a bit before stilling.

It was hard to breath.

“It’s fine, sweet,” Alan said, smiling. The manager leaned down, looking at where they were connected and hummed.

“Looks wonderful, sweet, you’re all stretched out. So good for us.”

Stiles was concentrating on simply breathing, unable to even really hear him.

Alan’s hand was warm as it slid down his damp skin. He didn’t touch Stiles’ cock - even though a part of him was howling for it on the inside - but it did skim over his balls only to stop right behind them, playing on that vulnerable stretch of skin.

The manager smiled, warm and calm and then his other hand was at his hole, slowly - so, so slowly - circling the abused ring.

Stiles moaned, feeling his blood heat up at the touch. It made him feel extremely vulnerable. It wasn’t even about being tied down and gagged, it wasn’t about a dog’s knot stuck in his hole… But. Alan, Alan was watching him. Watching it all happen with those keen, serious eyes.

His cock jerked, drooling a small pool of pre come to his stomach.

“I’m going to make you come again, sweet. You need to make this good for your partner, and the best way to that is with milking his cock,” he explained.

Oh, god.

The manager did good on his words and started massaging his perineum, fingers precise and insistent as they pushed down just where it had him gasping for breath.

It wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be… He didn’t… He didn’t want to come just from that.

He had no idea if Alan saw the desperation in his eyes, or wanted to do it all along, but soon enough, his other hand joined in the fun too, carefully dipping just the very tip of his index finger into his hole beside the stem of the dog’s cock.

Stiles’ back arched off the bed, completely out of his control.

No, no, no. He couldn’t take any more…

Apparently his body thought otherwise, because the second Alan managed to push his finger in while pushing down behind his balls he started coming.

Or, at least he thought he was coming.

It was weird. It was awful and the most awesome thing he ever felt before.

It… It didn’t work like an orgasm should. There was no… No peak to fall over, no pulses of pleasure…

It was like being slowly roasted. A constant, almost burning sensation that enveloped his whole body. Yes, there was pleasure, but it wasn’t intense. It just kept on coming without building into more.

He had no concept to understand it.

His cock was weeping, splurting out drop after drop of come, almost feeling like he was pissing a little.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that the dog was whining and shifting, giving little tugs to the knot. Huh.

His eyes felt like heavy. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t stopping. But, whenever the thought it was about to end, Alan just pushed harder on his taint and stroked the sensitive walls of his insides and it continued until Stiles just couldn’t take it anymore.

 

***

 

Stiles didn’t know what startled him awake. Or back to consciousness. Whatever.

All he knew was that Alan was cupping his face, thumb stroking gently the thin skin under his eye. He didn’t seem worried, so that was a plus.

“Almost finished, sweet. You were out for twenty minutes. D… the dog is about ready to pull out,” he said.

Stiles blinked up at him. His gag was gone, but his limbs were still tied, though the ropes felt like they had been loosened a bit. Peter was sitting on the floor, looking like he was actually talking to the dog standing beside him. The animal seemed equal amounts eager and restless.

“I need you to push a bit, sweet,” Alan said, trying to get his attention back to the present.

Stiles blinked. Oh. The dog’s knot was still inside him - it had deflated considerably, but it was still sitting fat and heavy in his hole.

Fuck.

Even though the thought made his heartbeat skip, his cock didn’t react, too spent for anything other than lay on his stomach, limp and unresponsive.

Alan tapped his nose lightly.

“Come now, Stiles.”

He swallowed. His mouth was dry, throat still aching. Okay. Okay, he could do this.

He took a deep breath and tried, bearing down. His ass hurt. It was nothing serious, just the deep, throbbing ache of too much usage, but it still made his eyes water.

Peter must have done something, because the dog started pulling at the same time.

It took a second but Stiles could feel his rim stretch as the knot slowly pulled out of him. He almost blacked out again, but it was over in a minute, leaving him panting and wide eyed as his hole tried in vain to close around empty air.

Alan leaned over him, filling his vision.

“Wonderful, sweet, you did so great,” he said. For some reason Stiles felt like crying, suddenly utterly exhausted by everything.

“It’s fine, close your eyes, I will take care of everything,” the manager said, and Stiles did just that.

A moment later he was lifted up by someone, squished against a naked chest - not Alan, then - and carried out of the room. The night air was incredibly cold, but he didn’t have time to shiver.

He was already asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks and warnings:  
> -bestiality  
> -knotting


	9. Wednesday - part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! I hope this story still has some readers, even though I left you guys waiting for a long time...  
> Okay, so today is actually a very important day, because - believe it or not - I've posted the first chapter of Room 27 on this day a year ago.  
> I was desperate to get this chapter out for the anniversary, and thanks to Emma, who was lovely and kept nudging me, it was possible.  
> I hope you guys are going to like it, because it will mark a milestone in Alan and Stiles' relationship :D
> 
> (you can find a list of kinks for this chapter in the end notes!)

Stiles barely remembered anything after that. He had been aware of being brought back to Alan’s room and then taking a long bath with the man holding his head above the water, but he completely blacked out afterwards. Maybe that was for the better.

That night he slept like a baby, and by the time he woke up, it was already well past ten. Fuck. He had slept way too much recently, not like he didn't have a lot of lost time to make up for...

For a few long seconds, he just stared at the radio clock on the bedside table. He was alone in the room, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Part of him was squirming, wanting Alan to be there, to… do something to make everything better. But the other part… The other part was still caught up in a weird sense of panic over yesterday. Now that it was actually over and he wasn’t caught up in a hailstorm of sensation, mind wiped clear by the sheer experience, he was. He was a bit horrified. Horrified at himself, at Peter and at Alan.

Stiles curled into a tighter ball under the covers. The bed was comfortable and warm and he wanted to go back to sleep and not think about anything. Unfortunately that wasn’t an option, because the door opened, and Alan walked in with a tray of food, looking like everything was perfectly fine with the world. Or at least that was what Stiles thought on first glance, but the man stopped by the side of the bed, and just looked at him for a long moment. It felt like he was hesitating, but Stiles had no idea why.

In the end, the manager put the tray down and sat on the edge of the bed, but he still didn’t touch Stiles. It made him antsy. Sure, his brain was trying to convince him that he didn’t want to be touched, but that wasn’t what he felt. What he felt was that he was going to die if Alan didn’t do something in the next five minutes.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked, finally making up his mind and combing his fingers through Stiles’ hair. It was dirty from all the sweat yesterday, but Alan didn’t mind.

And really, that was the question of the century, wasn’t it?

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right answer, but failing. He didn’t know. Everything was a mess. Stiles shut his eyes, not wanting to see Alan waiting for his reply. He just… he didn’t know.

“That’s okay, sweet, that’s fine,” the man said soothingly, palming his cheek and rubbing his thumb over his cheekbone. His hand felt warm, and it lessened the tension that felt like it was trying to blow him apart.

“In fact, keep your eyes closed, hm?”

Stiles knew it wasn’t really a question, but at same time, he didn’t think it was an order either. Something changed, and he wasn’t sure what, or even if he liked it. He kept them closed anyway, it was safer.

Alan’s hand left his face and a second later there was something cold touching his lips. He jerked back in surprise, but then opened his mouth obediently. It was a slice of apple, tart and fresh. He ate it, and then the small piece of cheese that followed. 

 

***

 

Stiles was fed breakfast like that, only sitting up when it was time to drink. It was sort of weird, but there was a certain comfort in not having to face the world. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off Alan’s face, trying to decipher him.

He was led to the bathroom and washed blind, with nothing but Alan’s hands guiding him. It was disorienting, but he didn’t open his eyes, not once, and his nerves eased, with every step without an accident making the fragile trust in him grow stronger. Maybe that was the man’s plan all along, Stiles didn’t care. Escaping the world was kind of his thing, it was part of the reason he was there.

He expected to be tied up after they were finished - his hands at least - but nothing like that happened. Alan led him back to the bed and made him lie down. The sheets were already cold, but if he tried hard enough, he could still feel their warmth lingering in there somewhere from the night.

He felt the bed dip beside him, but the man didn’t touch him, just sat there silently. Stiles thought that he should be getting nervous. He was a little bit, there was alway something upsetting in not knowing what was happening, but it was muted.

“You are doing so well,” Alan said finally. His voice was quiet, and it made Stiles frown. He wasn’t doing anything. Alan smoothed out the skin between his brows with his fingertips, the sensation almost ticklish.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I will put a blindfold on you, and I’m going to put some earplugs in too. We are going to stay on the bed, and just rest,” the man said, still tracing Stiles’s features.

Oh. That was… different. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, sensory deprivation never really made him hot or anything. But… It was appealing right now. He couldn’t really explain it.

Alan stood for a second, and when he returned, he made Stiles sit up, tying something soft around his eyes. Some sort of fabric.

The earplugs came next. He could hear a foil being opened, so he knew they were brand new. Alan popped one in, but didn’t do the other right away. He leaned in close, breath ghosting over the side of Stiles’ face, making him shiver.

“All you have to do is stay still. I will move you when you need to, but that’s all. You can fall asleep if you want to, you can talk and I will be right there.”

Stiles nodded. He knew he could speak, but it didn’t feel right, not after so much time spent silent.

Alan put the other earplug in and then made him lay down. The man shifted around on the bed until he was sitting up by the headboard, hand resting on Stiles’ hair.

 

***

 

It didn’t take long for him to start feeling kind of floaty. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear and the mattress was soft, dipping just right under his body. He tensed up a few times, disoriented and lost, but Alan just started scratching his scalp, the single point of contact enough to ground him.

Stiles wondered what the man was doing. Was he looking at him? Was he just spacing out? Or reading a book? He remembered how Alan looked with his glasses perched on his nose, the memory burning bright behind his closed eyelids.

“This is weird,” he said. He couldn’t hear his own voice, just the resonation of sound in his jaw and a second later he wasn’t even sure he said anything at all, or just thought it.

Alan didn’t react. Maybe he wasn’t listening. Maybe he put in some earplugs too. The uncertainty was worrying, but… There was a sense of freedom too.

He was pretty sure he actually nodded off for a second or two. He was so tired. It wasn’t even physical - it couldn’t have been - but his brain, his brain needed time to just turn off and digest everything.

Stiles didn’t want to think about what it needed to digest. Yesterday had been… No. He couldn’t.

He jerked awake, and Alan was lying behind him. He was naked too, bare skin pressing against Stiles’ back, hot and smooth, chest firm.

The man had his arms around him in a loose embrace.

“Hey,” Stiles said, licking his lips. There was no reply, no acknowledgement. For all he knew, Alan might have been sleeping too.

“Yesterday was… pretty wild.”

Still nothing.

The man was breathing deep and even, Stiles couldn’t decide if he was awake or not. It was kind of maddening.

Suddenly, there were warm lips pressing against the nape of his neck. As strange as it was, it didn’t feel sexual, or at least not like a start of something. Just a kiss. Nothing more, nothing less. Stiles was pulled closer, until Alan could simply rest his mouth against the thin, shivery skin there. His breath was whispering against him without sound.

Well, he was awake then.

“I… It was scary,” Stiles admitted. He didn’t know why he kept talking. It didn’t make any sense. This was so stupid. 

Alan’s lips didn’t move.

“Not like… not right then,” he added, swallowing thickly. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to talk about it, but this was different. Not being able to even hear his own voice made everything so… nonexistent. Like he was just screaming into the void without repercussions or consequences, without seeing Alan be disappointed or worried, or whatever.

A part of him wanted to guess his reactions, though, to conjure up an image of the man, but it was hard, because Alan was right there and even if he couldn’t see him, just the connection of skin against skin between them was enough to tell Stiles the most important thing. 

That Alan was right  _ there _ . 

“But it was a bit scary before we… before it was done. And after. This morning I mean.”

The words disappeared like they never existed, and with every single muted syllable, Stiles felt himself getting just a fraction lighter.

“I… I trust you.”

That. Saying that was like a burst of warmth blossoming in his chest. It felt right.

“I knew you wouldn’t let anything bad happen. It’s stupid isn’t it? I barely know you. We, like, never even really talked, how crazy is that?” 

Stiles shifted on the bed a bit, Alan moving with him, pressing another kiss into his skin when he finally settled down.

“The scary part…” he had to stop and think. He needed to get it right even if no one was listening. Or maybe exactly because of that.

“The scary part was that I… I just never thought I would be capable of something like that. Of enjoying something like that.”

It felt good to say it, even if it made him feel ugly and ashamed and small. His body tensed up, like it was fighting the truth.

Alan moved, his palm flattening out over Stiles’s belly and smoothing a warm path up to his chest only to stop right over his heart. He was trembling, and he had no idea when it started.

The man’s chest rumbled behind him, he was whispering words against his skin that he couldn’t hear.

He wanted to know them, to stop them from escaping, but at the same time, he didn’t dare. Maybe whatever Alan wanted to tell him was better left a secret. 

Stiles closed his eyes under his blindfold and just let himself be cradled close, warm and safe and comfortable.

 

***

 

They stayed like that for a long time, until he calmed down, letting his confession settle between them, adding weight to the dark silence. It wasn’t actually a bad feeling.

Stiles’ arm was just going numb when Alan finally moved, pushing at his shoulder and making him lay on his stomach. He never took his hand away, stroking over his back slowly, up-and down his spine. It was almost hypnotic.

Stiles had no idea what was coming next. He felt… vulnerable, like all the soft parts of him were out in the open, just waiting to be trampled on. He wasn’t sure he could take it if Alan wanted to hurt him right now.

But, it seemed hurting was the farthest thing from what the manager planned. After Stiles relaxed into the bed, his hand disappeared for a second, only to return, tracing the bones of his ankle. It was just a quick, teasing touch, but it still made Stiles bite his lips. He couldn’t anticipate the next move, and it made his belly fill with something close to excitement.

Alan kissed his shoulder blade, making him twitch and shiver, then traced the lines of his palm.

Stiles was getting hard. He was actually kind of surprised, because well. Alan wasn’t really doing anything arousing, right? None of the little touches lasted more than a few seconds, but Stiles still couldn’t help feeling like he was being carefully and delicately mapped. The manager knew everything about his body by now, he had to after all they did, but still. It was like… being cherished.

Stiles’ heart was beating fast. Not panicked or rushed, just elated. His blood was singing whenever Alan’s hand traced his skin, whenever his lips caressed him. It was hard not to move, because all he wanted to do was turn on his back and kiss the man.

The mattress shifted as the man moved closer. He nudged Stiles’ to pull one of his knees up. Fuck. 

He wasn’t sure what was going to happen - though he did hope - but this position made him open up, the air moving against his perineum, making goosebumps break out across his skin.

Alan touched his gently, parting his asscheeks slowly, like he didn’t want to startle him, it made Stiles tremble in the best way possible. He didn’t know what he was expecting - okay, no, he was expecting a bit of fingering or something - but then Alan was right there, breathing over his crack.

There was a second of waiting, almost making him tense up with anticipation, and then Stiles moaned - long and low - as the manager kissed his hole.Just a press of lips, then another and another.

Stiles was shaking apart. He couldn’t remember his body ever feeling this alive, like there was an electric current running all over his skin, sizzling at every touch.

Alan rubbed his lips over his hole, his beard scratching the sensitive skin, making it even more sensitive, even though Stiles didn’t think it was possible.

He was whining and groaning constantly. Or at least he thought he was, it was hard to say without his hearing, but his mouth was hanging open and there were sounds coming out of it, he was pretty sure.

The first flick of Alan’s tongue against his entrance made his cock jerk where it was trapped between his stomach and the bed. It was hot and wet and curious, the tip running in small circles around his rim that made him see stars.

It felt so good.

He wanted to reach back, to claw at the manager’s head and pull him closer, to make him do it stronger, but he knew by now that it would only result in everything stopping. He wasn’t supposed to move.

Stiles’ hole was twitching. He tried to relax, to make himself open up and let Alan in, but the constant stimulation made it impossible. His body was reacting on it’s own accord, just a sack of nerve endings lighting up everywhere.

“Please…” he wasn’t sure if he said it out loud, or if he was just thinking it, he wasn’t sure it even mattered.

“Alan… Alan I need...”

His spine was quivering, aching to arch off the bed, but he couldn’t.

The manager didn’t seem to care about his begging, continuing to tease him with his tongue, occasionally switching back to those maddening, close mouthed kisses.

“Please, please just… just something.”

He was almost certain that he didn’t imagine that chuckle; it was barely more than a burst of breath against his spit slick crack.

He didn’t expect the sharp, stinging bite to his ass cheek. The explosion of pain that came with it had his toe curl, cock making a tacky mess of the sheets under him. Stiles was panting hard, maybe talking too. He was dizzy with want.

Alan just kept doing what he did, showering his poor, oversensitive hole in small kisses and kitten licks, except now he bit him too, when he was least expecting it.

Stiles didn’t know how much time passed, the whole concept of it lost meaning in his darkened world filled with sensation. All he knew that he was going crazy, craving release in any way he could get it, any way Alan was willing to give it to him.

His head spun, and he actually didn’t understand what happened when he was turned to his back, the manager flipping him over with strong, sure hands.

His front felt cold, covered in quickly cooling sweat.

Alan pushed his knees up until he was bent in half, thighs trembling with the strain, but that hot, lovely mouth was back, lips rubbing against his perineum, the man’s nose nudging his heavy, full balls.

“Yes… Yes, please, Alan- Alan, please,” he wasn’t sure he was making sense, he didn’t care.

There was a huff of breath again. Stiles had no way to judge, but it felt like fond exasperation.

He didn’t get what he wanted, of course he didn’t. What Alan did was fitting his teeth against his skin, grazing them over that vulnerable, naked spot. Stiles didn’t even dare to breath. He couldn’t decide if he wanted the man to fulfil that threat or not. He couldn’t even imagine how hard it would hurt to be bitten there, but a part of him wanted to find out.

Alan didn’t do it tough, just teased and then moved on, pressing soft kisses over his balls, then lapping at them slowly, making Stiles shiver as his saliva cooled in the air.

He was going to die if he couldn’t come soon.

The manager might have been a mind reader - or maybe Stiles babbled that thought out too - because he let his legs down, carefully fisting his cock.

Fuck. Fuck, that felt so good, it made his blood boil and run wild.

Alan flattened his other hand over his belly, pressing down - which was good, because as soon as his lips kissed Stiles’ crown, he was arching off the bed, with the only thing holding him down being that point of contact.

He got a blowjob from Alan before, back when he first came to this place, but he didn’t remember that it had been this good. Or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him, because right now, it felt like he was in heaven.

Alan had no mercy. He kept Stiles’ cock steady and sucked him down, so warm and soft like nothing he ever felt before. The slide was easy, almost effortless, and it just made everything a bit more intense, a bit more like an erotic feverdream.

He was babbling. He knew, but he couldn’t - for the life of him - tell what he was actually saying.

It took embarrassingly little to have him fall apart. Alan wasn’t teasing him anymore, he was working Stiles’ dick like an instrument, his tongue finding all the right spots, lips squeezing down just the way that made him fly, that made him leave the world behind.

Stiles came on a shout. His chest was heaving, and he just kept coming and coming, spurting into Alan’s waiting mouth. The man never stopped sucking him, force aftershock after aftershock out of him until Stiles was nothing but a quivering, loose-limbed mess.

He shivered when the manager finally pulled off him, feeling cold and alone in the darkness, but it didn’t last long.

Alan turned him to his side, lying down in front of him and pulling him close.

Stiles could feel that the man’s cock was hard, it was poking against the crease of his thigh. But he wasn’t allowed to move, no matter how much he wanted to return the favor and have that familiar length deep in his throat.

Alan cradled his face and plucked out his earplugs. The room was silent. Or at least it was supposed to, but it wasn’t, really. Stiles didn’t think even the faintest noises could be this pronounced. He could hear the traffic from the highway, and the tv blaring in one of the rooms, the fridge humming in the kitchen...

The manager kissed his brow and then pulled his blindfold off too, though he still kept a palm over Stiles’ eyes.

“Don’t open them just yet,” he warned. Stiles didn’t realize before how much he loved that voice.

He nodded.

Alan took his hand away and leaned it. His lips tasted like Stiles, like come, really, but they were soft, framed by the tough texture of his beard. Their mouths moved against each other, chaste and closed. Stiles never kissed someone with facial hair before.

And, deep down in secret, he realized he never wanted to kiss anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!
> 
> You can find me at udunie.tumblr.com!
> 
> Kinks and warnings:  
> Sensory deprivation  
> Rimming  
> Slight angst  
> Oral sex


	10. Wednesday part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, anyone who might still be reading this story.
> 
> Wow. Wow, long time no see. I've been making an effort to update my WIPs and it was finally time for this one. Tbh, I was a bit (a lot) scared, cause this series has a special place in my heart, but here we are.
> 
> Once again, this couldn't have been possible without the help of my lovely, wonderful Emma who keeps me going and doesn't let me drown in self-doubt. I love you, hon.

Afterwards, they ate pizza in bed. It was a bit surreal, but Alan didn’t give any indication of anything changing between them.

That was good. Against all rhyme and reason Stiles did feel better about things now that he had been able to talk about them, no matter how strange the exchange had been.

The pizza was good, even though he had a hard time understanding why he felt so content watching Alan frown because he managed to drip sauce on his shirt.

 

***

 

Stiles was made to clean himself up after eating. He couldn’t decide if he was grateful or disappointed being left alone, but he swallowed it down, and took it as an act of trust.

He didn’t want to fuck up again.

When he was finished, Alan gave him his phone while the manager cleared away the remains of the food. He called his dad first, feeling relieved when he heard Melissa in the background.

Then he called Parish. Wait, no. Jordan. Thankfully he didn’t wake him up this time and their short chat was way less awkward. He seemed like a nice guy all in all, and Stiles appreciated the sentiment that the guy wanted to make sure he was safe. If he didn’t need to keep a few things secret from him, he thought they could even be friends…

He was just ending the call when Alan came back, sitting down on the end of the bed. He put a warm hand on Stiles’ ankle as he leaned in to take the phone.

“You are still due a punishment,” he said, making Stiles freeze. Fuck. Fuck, he totally forgot about that…

Alan squeezed down on his feet, easing the tension in his body a fraction.

The food he ate still sat heavily in his belly, and his brain immediately started running in circles, wondering what it would be. The last one had been hard. He wasn’t sure he could do something like that again.

The man was looking at him, keeping his hand on Stiles’s skin, squeezing down a bit to make him look into his eyes.

“First, tell me why you are being punished,” he said, voice calm. Like they weren’t even talking about something… potentially awful.

Stiles swallowed, his fingers twitching on the bedcovers. 

“For… for coming without permission. And disobeying.”

That was all, right?

“And I- I’m sorry.”

The shadow of the shame from yesterday was still there, not as overwhelming and panic inducing as it had been, but just… there. He’d fucked up. Again. Twice in two days. That had to be some kind of record, but he didn’t dare ask the man if anyone had been as dismal as he was. 

Alan nodded, making him exhale shakily.

“Exactly. And I know you’re sorry,” he said. His eyes were dark and serious and Stiles didn’t know how to look away from them. “I’m not angry with you, just like I said; your mistakes are my mistakes too, but if we want you to be better at the things I’m asking of you, then there has to be consequences for breaking the rules.”

Stiles bit his lip, and finally managed to avert his eyes. There was no disappointment in the manager’s gaze, but he didn’t feel strong enough to risk looking for it anymore.

Alan patted his ankle and then got up. 

“Come on,” he said. 

Stiles crawled after him, with a strange mix of anticipation and wariness swirling in his belly.

They went to the living room, and Alan motioned at the couch.

“On your back, hold onto the armrest above your head,” he dictated, waiting until Stiles obeyed. 

“Good. I’m going to get something, I will be right back,” he promised before leaving.

Stiles felt a bit… shaky. He didn’t know yet what his punishment would be, and it was eating away at his brain. Alan never… his punishments weren’t exactly cruel. Everything they did together - as hard it was to admit to himself - ended up being something that opened his eyes for new possibilities, no matter how hard he tried to look away from them. It wasn’t that he was afraid of what the manager would do to him, it was that he wasn’t sure he was ready for a new door to be thrown open, letting whatever it hid free in his mind.

Being here was… Like being in a whirlwind. He kept being thrown around, and he kept smacking into his denial, sharp among the debris the wind was carrying.

But somehow… he hoped… no, he  _ knew  _ that when all was over and his feet were back on the ground, he would be some place he couldn’t even imagine right now.

Just like Dorothy.

The thought made him snort, shaking his head at the ceiling. Or he was just going plain old crazy. One of the two.

Alan was back before he could let his head go on another tangent, and the sight of him made Stiles frown.

He was wearing gardening gloves, and was holding a few green leaves in one of them.

What the hell?

“Alright, sweet. I need you to put one of your legs over the back of the couch, the other on the floor,” the manager told him. The position made him… extremely open, his genitals bared. The room was cool enough that he couldn’t suppress a shiver as it hit the sensitive skin where his thighs met his body.

“Very good,” Alan said, sitting down at the end of the couch, turning towards him. Stiles looked at the leaves in his hand warily. He had a feeling that this wasn’t about eating a salad after the pizza.

“Now, are you familiar with this plant?” the manager asked him, holding it out for Stiles to see.

It had serrated edges and was sort of heart-shaped and fuzzy. It looked familiar, but he wasn’t sure, so he shook his head uncertainly. Alan hummed.

“It’s called  _ Utica dioica _ in latin, very useful herb, you can drink it as a tea for example, has wonderful effects, it’s especially good for infections…” he explained, his voice trailing off. Stiles had the sudden impression that the manager could go on for hours about plants and animals, and all those things, and he… he wished he could maybe listen to it sometime.

Alan shook his head, smiling a bit, and looked at Stiles, his face growing serious again.

“But you might know it by its more common name: this is the stinging nettle.”

Stiles felt his eyes widen. Stinging nettle? He faintly remembered Scott falling into a patch of those when they were kids; he’d been covered in rashes and Melissa practically bathed him in antihistamines. What…?

The man held his free hand up before he could open his mouth.

“You are getting punished for coming without permission, while jerking off,” he started, and Stiles… Stiles had an awful feeling about this, the bottom dropping out of his stomach.

“You- you can’t-”

“Hush, sweet. No talking without permission,” Alan reminded him, though thankfully he didn’t look angry. Stiles snapped his mouth shut, biting at his lips.

He couldn’t meant that… He just  _ couldn’t _ . 

“I’m going to rub these leaves over your cock.”

Stiles opened his mouth again, feeling his eyes filling with tears, because that. That sounded like a horrible idea. He couldn’t even imagine… But this time just a sharp look was enough to kill the words on his lips.

“Yes, I’m going to do it. It will hurt. Quite a lot I imagine, but it won’t be unbearable. It will also make the affected area sensitive for a day, or a bit more, enough that you will think twice before touching yourself.”

Stiles closed his eyes, shaking his head silently. No. No, no, no.

But Alan didn’t seem to care.

“This is your punishment, sweet. There’s only one question that I’m going to ask, and after than that you will be staying silent. Are you allergic to anything?” 

Stiles sucked in a breath through his nose, keeping his eyes shut tight. This was his chance, right? All he had to do was lie. Just. Just a little bit. For all he knew, he could be deadly allergic to stinging nettles right?

He chewed on his lips, jaw working. He should do it. He should just say that he’s allergic, and then Alan would have to come up with something else. Something less horrible.

“No.”

The single word was out of his mouth before he had time to stop it.

Fuck, why… why was he such an idiot? 

Alan nodded his head, and Stiles didn’t think he was imagining the way his eyes grew a little warmer.

“Alright. If you’re unfamiliar with it, you may still be, but I have drugs at hand we can use if the worst happens.”

Stiles swallowed, trying to focus with his eyes growing blurry again. Half of him was furious, telling him that he should have lied. He didn’t think the manager would have risked it, even if he suspected that he wasn’t honest…

At the same time, he wasn’t sure he could have lived with himself if he did it, if he lied into Alan’s face like that. He sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to stay and look him in the eyes again. And that? That was something he couldn’t even consider.

The manager shifted, getting comfortable. He bit the fingers of the glove covering his left hand, pulling it off like that. His teeth were very white, and for some reason Stiles couldn’t concentrate on anything but that. Alan looked good doing that. Sexy.

The man threw the discarded glove on the coffee table and reached out for Stiles, making him tense immediately. He knew it didn’t slip the manager’s notice, but he couldn’t stop himself, not with the dread settling into his bones like cold lead.

“It’s going to be alright, but I need you to stay still,” he said. He moved slowly, like he was afraid that Stiles would fly off the couch at the slightest scare - or maybe fly apart from the tension. “I only want to use it on the shaft. The chemicals in the plant usually only cause skin irritation, but there’s a chance of swelling should they get on the head, and I don’t want your urinary tract to swell shut.”

Stiles closed his eyes, feeling the room spin around him, he wanted to protest with so much force that he had to focus on keeping his jaw shut, enough that it made his teeth hurt.

Alan took hold of his cock, his fingers deceptively gentle, considering what he was about to to.

He pulled it down, circling his thumb and index finger around the head, and shielding it with his palm.

“Just like that. It will take a few seconds for it to kick in, so I will do it quick. All you have to do is keep still until then,” he promised, his voice quiet, like he was talking to a cornered animal.

Stiles felt like he was one too. Like he had no choice, no getaway, no chance to fight.

It was just an illusion, though. He could stand up and get dressed and call Jordan to pick him up, and - deep down - he knew that Alan wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him.

That was the thought that kept him anchored.

But still, it was an alluring possibility. Just walking away. Not even looking back.

Except. Except he didn’t want to. Not even as he watched the manager’s other hand coming closer, holding those damned leaves just an inch away from his skin, like he wanted to see if Stiles would bolt.

If he would fail.

Again.

His foot - tendons tensed to the point where he was afraid they would break - jittered against the floor in that terrible,  _ terrible  _ moment of waiting for the inevitable to happen.

It flashed into his brain, that maybe the waiting was the worst part of getting a punishment…

But then Alan was moving, swift and precise as he swiped the leaves around the shaft of his cock, only once, only lightly.

For a heartbeat he thought it wasn’t even that bad; sure there was a sharp, prickly sensation that forced a whine out of his closely clapped mouth, but it wasn’t-

Then he was screaming, kicking out and rolling to the floor, blind with pain. It hurt.

God, it  _ hurt _ , burning and stinging and feeling like his cock was being stabbed with needles all over.

He didn’t know what to do. Instinctively, he wanted to cradle his dick, like that would chase the pain away, ease it somehow, but just the feeling of it brushing against his thigh made everything worse. 

Stiles was crying, curled on the floor and biting his knuckles, body trembling, chest heaving.

When Alan touched his shoulder, he pushed it away, and then grabbed for it, flopping on the floor like some terrified sea creature dying an agonizing death on dry land. 

By the time the pain eased a bit, his upper body was pulled into the manager’s lap, with the man’s hand caressing his sweaty hair while the other rubbed at his spine soothingly.

The first thing he saw through his tears when he managed to open his eyes were drops of blood on the floor.

He recoiled instinctively, but Alan shushed him, moving his arm so he couldn’t see it.

“Everything’s okay, you’re alright,” he said, sounding a bit strange.

But…

“I was concentrating on letting go of your cock as soon as it hit, so I wouldn’t hurt you accidentally,” the man said, voice tinted with humor. 

Oh.

“And I did, but otherwise I guess my reflexes aren’t what they used to be.”

Stiles was still struggling with the pain. It wasn’t blinding him anymore, even if it still felt like he’d been scorched down there, and dipped into acid, maybe. But Alan’s voice was the only thing he could concentrate on to distract him, so he tried to pay attention.

He turned his head - as much as he dared, body frozen from the hurt radiating from his groin - and glanced up, eyes widening.

The manager’s face was covered in blood. It didn’t seem like he was still bleeding, but looking from here, his nose might have been broken.

Did… did he do that?

Oh god.

He could feel his panic coming on, washing over him, but before he could be swept under Alan’s palm was covering his eyes, blocking his vision.

“Breathe, sweet. You’re fine, I’m fine.”

The man’s hand smelled like earth - the gardening gloves, his mind supplied - and the darkness behind them felt… comfortable. Protective.

They stayed like that for long moments, Alan started humming tunelessly at one point, and with the sound of Stiles’s hiccupy breathing, still on the verge of sobbing, they made a strange kind of melody.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked finally, after an eternity.

Stiles closed his eyes, his lashes fluttering against the manager’s palm as he took stock of himself.

“Hurts,” he said, voice croaking.

It was. It was muted now, but it was still there, stinging. He was too scared to move, terrified of jostling his cock and setting the pain flare brightly again.

“Good,” the manager said, sure and confident and calm. Everything that Stiles wasn’t.

But then, there was a second of unusual hesitation.

“I will need to look at it, to make sure there’s no overreaction. Can you keep your eyes closed for me?”

He knew it was for his own benefit, that Alan didn’t want to freak him out with all the blood again. The gesture made his throat close up a bit, and he swallowed on instinct, nodding his head.

The manager caressed his cheek as he pulled his hand away. Stiles could feel his body shift, leaning over his own, and he stilled completely.

“Don’t… don’t touch it, please, please…” 

He didn’t even know what would happen, but his cock was burning up, aching, the skin feeling like it was set on fire, and the only thing he wanted was for it to stop. Or at least not get worse.

Alan hushed him, planting a hand on his thigh and gently - so, so gently - lifting his dick with the other.

Stiles whined, his spine almost snapping with how rigid he went at even that soft, cursory touch.

It didn’t hurt worse, exactly, but it made him hurt differently, like his cock had been peeled, leaving all the nerve endings out in the open.

“It’s alright. You’re okay,” the man murmured, and then he was pulling back, thank god, leaving Stiles a sweaty, shaking mess.

He didn’t even notice how he was clinging into the leg of Alan’s pants, until the manager circled his wrists, rubbing his thumbs over Stiles’ pulse until his hold relaxed.

“That’s it. The worst is over, I promise. You did well.”

“I… I kicked you in the face,” he blurted out, unsure if he was sounding more hysteric or baffled.

The man hummed.

“That you did, but it was not your fault,” he assured, and he could almost hear the smile in his voice.

“Is it broken?”

There was a second of silence, while one of the man’s hands disappeared for a second. Then there was a nearly inaudible hiss.

“No, I’m quite alright. I just need to get cleaned up.”

Stiles still felt awful. He felt awful from the pain throbbing in his cock, like some twisted, backwards wave of arousal. He felt awful for hurting Alan, no matter how accidental he was. He wasn’t sure he could take being left alone right now. Not even just long enough for the man to clean up.

“Can I… can I help?”

His eyes were still closed, and he could only feel it when the manager smoothed his thumbs over the sensitive skin under them, wiping away his tears. His fingers were warm.

“Of course you can.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains:  
> \- cock and ball torture (with the help of stinging nettles)  
> \- some blood (due to an accident)

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear from you in the comments!
> 
> Or, if you have anything you would like to talk about - or suggest about the fic - hit me up at udunie.tumblr.com!


End file.
